Shards of a Broken Fate
by stalkerace
Summary: 'Michael Potter was supposed to be the 'Boy-who-Lived', and the last Potter in the Magical World, so who is this Harry Potter who had now come to Hogwarts? And what does he have to do with Hermione Granger'
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

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**SHARDS OF A BROKEN FATE**

**PROLOGUE**

**Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging**

**Surrey, United Kingdom**

**November 1, 1981 ACE**

_Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four._

_ "Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone._

Silence descended around Privet Drive, but it was not the silence that one would associate with the dead of the night, for this silence was unnatural in the sense that there was not a single sound echoing around the entire street. It was as if even the insects had decided that it would be in their best interest to remain quiet, as if even the wind had realized that howling was not the path that it wishes to take if it wished to remain in existence.

For a few moments, the light that Professor Dumbledore had released from his silver Put-Outer remained in place, within the glass of the streetlights and looked as if they could burn and provide light till the morning without a problem. Suddenly, the light flickered, but remained in place. For the next few seconds, the light flickered on and off every few moments until it suddenly decided that trying to remain awake is not worth the effort and just died.

Once more, the whole of Privet Drive was encased in darkness. The baby in the bundle of blankets resting in the foyer of number four stirred, as if he could sense the disturbance, but he remained firmly asleep, not even turning as he made small fists with his small hands hidden underneath white mittens.

A low sound came from the direction of one end of the street, the direction where Professor Dumbledore had appeared nearly an hour ago and the direction where he had disappeared after accomplishing the reason he was here in the first place.

Thanks to the darkness, it was very hard to see what was coming from that direction, but the silhouette of the approaching vehicle was just a bit darker than the darkness of the night and a very careful observer can probably see the approaching vehicle.

It was quickly followed by two more vehicles of the same mark and color, approaching from the direction where their leader came from, driving as silently as possible. When the red brake lights of the lead vehicle flashed into existence, it was like a beacon with its brightness, but the red brake lights only flashed for a few seconds before it blinked into non-existence once more as it stopped just in front of the open garage of number four, the big, black body of the four-door Land Rover placing itself between the road and the car of Vernon Dursley.

Two more red beacons – the red brake lights of the two following vehicles – flashed into existence and disappeared into the night in quick succession as they took their position behind the lead Land Rover. Silently, all four doors of the first and last Land Rover opened and four people stepped out from the cab of their vehicles at almost the same time.

These eight men took positions around the front of number four, and each of the eight men took a position that would allow them to see their sectors without any obstacles. Their positions also allowed them to overlap the field of vision of each other in addition to leaving no corner unwatched.

Once the eight men had taken positions – those eight men might not be carrying any weapons of any kind, but they still posses the aura that clearly said that the only ones that can mess with them are those who do not mind dying at the end of the brawl – the second Land Rover finally opened its doors, but unlike the first two, the driver of this vehicle did not even bother to step out. Indeed, he did not even bother to switch off the engine of his vehicle.

Three people stepped down from the second Land Rover – again, none of the three were armed, but two of them possess the same aura as their guards while the last one, a female, carried herself with the grace of a person who knew what to do in order to get what she wants – and quickly made their way exactly where Dumbledore and his entourage were not even thirty minutes ago, their attention focused on the bundle of blankets that the Headmaster of Hogwarts had so carelessly left behind, hoping that the baby inside would be cared for by his muggle relatives.

The apparent leader of this group of men shook his head the moment that he caught sight of the sleeping baby inside the basket before he turned to the other male that was accompanying him and commented, "Albus Dumbledore must be losing his marbles if he would risk leaving this boy in the care of abusive bastards," he said. His companions did not even nod their head in reply – indeed, they did not even seem to acknowledge what he had just said – but the apparent leader did not care.

After receiving a nod from their leader, the only female of the group bent her knees and smiled at the sleeping Harry Potter. Even though he was asleep, a smile came across the face of the baby as she did that. She turned her head toward the apparent leader of the group and nodded.

The apparent leader nodded back before he sighed. At the same time that he did so, the female gently took the basket containing the bundle of blankets covering Harry. She placed it against her body before she engulfed the blanket in an embrace, making sure that it would not fall to the ground.

"Are you sure about this?" the apparent leader asked, her question directed toward the only female in their group. He could understand maternal instinct and all that, but for this woman – his partner in everything – to volunteer herself to take care of this boy whose choices would determine the fate of more than just the people alive today, he could not understand that, and no matter how he try to convince his partner, she would not tell him why she volunteered herself for this operation. Still, it does not mean that he cannot attempt – even if it was just one more futile attempt – to convince her to leave young Harry Potter in the hands of people who were trained to take care of children, "Emma, this is not one of those little cats that you are so fond of raising against my objections"

For a reply, she smiled at him, "Alex, I'm sure about this," she assured him. For a few moments, they were silent, before she added, "You would be there as well," and with a slight smile, she inclined her head slightly toward the direction of their apparent leader and added in a whisper, "My Lord"

The apparent leader smiled in response to the postscript. He did look hesitant for a few moments before he nodded, "Very well, Little Kitten," he replied with a smile. She smiled back at him before she turned her back toward the two men and started to walk back toward the Land Rover that she came from, making cute faces at the baby that she was holding even though the baby was still asleep.

For a few moments, Alex and the other man watched her, but once she was out of earshot, the two men turned toward each other, with the other man saying, "I don't like it,"

"You don't have to," Alex replied in a tone that suggested that he really does not care. There was also a hint of haughtiness and disregard in his tone.

For a few moments, an uncomfortable silence descended on the two before Alex turned his attention toward the house. An angry snort escaped from his lips before he shrugged and turned toward his companion, "You win on that one," he said.

His companion smiled, taking the little victory that he had been given without asking for more. Alex, however, snorted as he explained his reasoning for his sudden decision not to burn number four while the Dursley's are still inside, "Dumbledore's actions this evening proves that he is not going to check up on Harry, anyway, not that he would now that he is sure that young Michael Potter is the so-called boy-who-lived," he said, and there was a tone of irritation in his voice as he said that.

He sighed before he turned his back toward the front door of the Dursley house, his companion following after him a few moments later when he started to walk back toward the waiting vehicles, "besides, if I burn their house now, I would be killing a little child," he smiled as he shook his head, "The boy is going to be his father, but not even death is certain, my friend, I prefer to give him a chance to try to change that which he is meant to be."

To himself, the leader of this group added, '_besides, just because I do not burn them alive today does not mean that I would not burn them alive tomorrow'_

"Of course, My Lord," the other man replied. There was a frown on his face, but he still inclined his head politely toward his superior and acknowledged his instruction.

A few moments later found everyone back inside the cab of their transports, little Harry still sleeping in his basket in the rear row, his new mother figure still making faces at him even if he was still asleep.

After the three Land Rovers pulled out of the street – without even bothering to turn the lights back on like Dumbledore did – Alex – who was also seated at the rear row of the second Land Rover – turned toward the girl who was seated at the other side, "Give it a rest, Emma," he said, "He can't see you"

She frowned at him, "You may as well grow to like him, Alex," she replied, and with a smile she added, "He's going to be your son."

**ONE**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**Scotland, United Kingdom**

**June 24, 1995 ACE**

Minerva McGonagall loved her job, and though most students would most likely label her as one of the more strict professors in the premier magical school of the United Kingdom, they would also not hesitate to label her as one of the better professors at the same school.

In addition to being the resident transfiguration mistress of the castle that is Hogwarts School, Minerva is also the Head of Gryffindor, one of the four houses of Hogwarts as well as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, and in that position, she assists the running of the school in conjunction with the Headmaster – who, in her opinion, was not doing anything as head administrator of Hogwarts, though she was willing to cut him some slack considering that Albus Dumbledore have a lot of other positions that he must see to, including some of the most important positions of their world – and the Board of Governors.

The work that she was doing that morning was in conjunction with her position as Deputy Headmistress, and though she knew that it was supposed to be the work of the Headmaster to check the names for the coming school year, she had decided to take this job because Albus Dumbledore had not done it since the moment that he became Headmaster.

A soft sigh escaped from the lips of Minerva as she considered the position that the Headmaster of Hogwarts is in, and that sigh on her face was just a prologue to the frown that quickly appeared after the sigh.

The events of the last year had taken a toll on the school, the Headmaster, and the Boy-who-Lived, Michael Sirius Potter. An imposter of a professor – and here, Minerva snorted as she still found it difficult to imagine Albus failing to detect that Alastor Moody, one of his oldest friends, was being impersonated by a follower of the Dark Lord – had managed to sneak the fourth year Gyrffindor – Michael Potter – into a tournament that was reserved for adults. More importantly, he was able to sneak Michael Potter as the _fourth_ contender in a competition that was supposed to have only three contenders.

These events culminated with a kidnapping that saw the contender of Hogwarts dead and Michael Potter loudly proclaiming that Lord Voldemort is back, something that Minerva had no trouble believing, though from the news that she had been reading from the Daily Prophet, she knew that the Ministry was digging their foot.

Minerva shook her head and told herself that now is not the time for her to worry about these things. Even as she told herself that, she returned her attention to the pile of papers in front of her. It was customary for the Headmaster to review the names of the incoming first years every year, if only to make sure that the school would be well-equipped to handle their arrival.

As the Magical World is relatively small, everyone knows almost everyone and it was not surprising to Minerva that in the many years that she had been Deputy Headmistress, she had not read a name from the list that was magically provided by the magic of the school that she had not recognized the parents of.

Another sigh escaped from the lips of Minerva as she was confronted by an event that had happened in her past and directly related to the task that she is doing right now. It was in this same room and in this exact same chair that she learned – nearly five years ago – that Harry James Potter would not be joining the premier magical school in England. She had rushed to Albus to inform him of the news, certain that the Headmaster would drop anything that he was doing in order to check on the young boy, but to her surprise, the Headmaster merely nodded and after confirming that Michael Potter is on the list, the Headmaster informed her that Harry Potter is a squib.

Minerva grimaced as she remembered the shock that permeated her system at that news. Albus had to call her name half a dozen times before she would respond. In hindsight, it was probably better that she did not respond because the moment she did, the Headmaster shot down her suggestion that they visit Number Four for the reason that the two worlds – the magical and the muggle world – are not supposed to have contact anymore than necessary.

Five years after the fact, Minerva still has not forgiven Albus for that, and her anger at him over that matter increased – if that was even possible – when she spoke with Michael Potter – during the one on one interview she had with him as his Head of House – and asked if the young lad knew Harry.

Michael Potter, who was raised in the Weasley household, was not joking when he replied that he does not know anyone named Potter other than himself, before the vain lad went on to proclaim that he is the only Potter left. Minerva dismissed him soon after that.

Without warning, a great white snowy owl suddenly entered the chambers of the Deputy Headmistress, surprising Minerva. A frown made its way on her face as she the owl approached her before it showed her its leg where a package was tried securely.

Minerva stared at the package, wondering who it was sent from and what is in it. This time of war, it pays to be suspicious of anything that is sent to her, and at this juncture, she turned her attention to the magnificent creature that brought the package. It was her first time seeing this owl, which only served to make her more suspicious, but after a few moments, she gave the owl a nod of respectful greeting which, to her surprise, the owl returned, before she took the package and indicated to the owl that she may rest at the Owlery on one of the many towers of the school before she make the journey back to wherever she it is that she came from.

Once the snowy owl was gone, Minerva turned her attention on the package. She reminded herself that if the contents of the package were dangerous, the wards of Hogwarts would not have allowed it to enter the premises of the school, she opened the package and found herself staring at a letter.

A frown made its way across her face once more as she opened the letter. The first thing she noticed was that the letter was written using not a quill – as is the case of students and anyone who grew up in the magical world – but with something else. The neat figures that the letters formed, Minerva knew, could not be done if the writer was using a quill.

The surprise that she felt at realizing that, however, was nothing compared to the shock that she felt when she read the letter. Even though she was not facing a mirror, Minerva knew that she had gone white the moment that she read the signature at the bottom of the paper. She stood up quickly, carrying the letter between her two hands as if it was the most precious thing that she had ever seen in her life, and made her way to the fireplace of her office.

She quickly threw some green powder into the fire burning, and the red fire reacted almost instantly, turning green the moment that the green powder made contact with it. Once she was sure that the fire is burning green, she struck her head inside the fireplace and called, "Headmaster, are you there?"

The naturally joyous voice of the Headmaster responded almost the moment that the last syllable had left the mouth of Minerva, "Minerva," the Headmaster of Hogwarts acknowledged his Deputy, before he quickly added, "Come in, come in"

With a quick nod to herself, Minerva stepped through the fireplace and found herself inside the spacious office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. As usual, the Headmaster was seated behind his desk, poring over some parchment that Minerva was sure contains one kind of report or another.

The Headmaster, however, removed his gaze from his paperwork the moment that Minerva stepped into the room. He offered her a smile before he indicated the ever present bowl full of muggle candy that he is so fond of to Minerva, asking her, "Lemon Drop?"

Minerva shook her head and managed, barely, to avoid the look of disapproval that she was sure was etching itself on her face when she heard Albus offering her the muggle contraption. She was also pretty sure that no one had ever taken the Headmaster up on that offer, but somehow, it had not stopped him from offering.

"What can I do for you today, Minerva?" Albus asked, his mood jovial, but then again, Minerva told herself, the times that Albus had been anything but jovial could probably be counted on her hands with fingers to spare. The man appeared to be perpetually smiling, though Minerva – and the rest of the magical world – knew just how dangerous Albus could be, after all, he was – and now that he is back, is – the only one that the Dark Lord Voldemort ever truly feared.

Minerva did not answer the question of the Headmaster. Instead, she merely placed the letter that she had received, as gently as she can in order to avoid her from cursing the Headmaster in her native tongue, on the surface in front of the Headmaster.

She wished that she could just shove the letter – and the paperwork that the Headmaster was dealing with – toward the Headmaster, but the man was still her superior, no matter how pissed off she is of him right now.

The Headmaster seemed amused that his Deputy did not answer his question, having chosen to express her concern via action instead. He watched as she gently placed the letter that she was holding on the surface in front of him, aware that the overly grand gesture was resorted to by his Deputy because she was trying – and to a certain extent, she was succeeding – to control herself.

An invisible sigh escaped from the lips of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Since the time nearly five years ago when he told her that Harry Potter was a squib, he and Minerva had not seen eye to eye. They had managed – or rather, Minerva had managed – to maintain a strictly professional relationship – and Albus knew that it was not that hard for her – and had managed to forestall their other colleagues from realizing that the two highest administrators of the school are not in good terms.

As he thought about that, Albus asked himself if not informing Minerva the first moment that he got that Harry Potter had been turned into a squib was the right thing to do. Even the decision to leave Harry in the hands of his muggle relatives was made because there was no way that the Weasley's – or any magical family for that matter – would take on Harry as he is a squib. Albus told himself that his decision to leave Harry on the muggle world was for the good of everyone involved.

The voice of Minerva brought him out of his reverie and back to the present, "This was delivered to my office not ten minutes ago, Headmaster," Minerva replied, deliberately ignoring the flinch that the Headmaster made when he realized that she still refused to call him by name. It was fortunate that the other professors still think that the reason that Minerva refuse to call him by name was because she was being respectful.

Albus acknowledged the introduction with a nod. He mentally sighed as he told himself to ignore the fact that Minerva still refused to cal him by name, and instead, he turned his attention on the letter in front of him.

His visage did not change as read the letter, leading Minerva to believe that the Headmaster was aware of this, yet, had not seen fit to inform his Deputy Headmistress of these changes. She was about to launch into a broadside against the Headmaster for what she was a deliberate oversight on the part of the Headmaster, but before she can open her mouth, she saw the jaw of the Headmaster drop in surprise.

Minerva had to call on years of self-discipline not to smile at the gob-smacked expression on the face of her superior. She knew that he had just read the purported sender of the letter.

"Well, Albus, what can you tell me?" Minerva suddenly asked. She chose to use his name rather than his title at this time because she knew that it would stung the Headmaster more than the use of the title, after all, by using his first name, Minerva was insinuating that this was the personal fault of the great Albus Dumbledore.

To her surprise, the Headmaster of Hogwarts merely nodded, "This was expected," he said, nodding again toward Minerva, who looked as if she had swallowed a fly whole.

The Deputy Headmistress blinked once as she realized that the Headmaster had just admitted that he knew that this was coming, but before she can say anything about it, the Headmaster cut her off, "I had been informed before I was ousted as Chief Warlock that a student from across the pond would be coming to Hogwarts this year in order to check on our curriculum, and said student would be staying with us for the rest of the year in order to acclimate himself to how we do things over here"

Minerva blinked as she told herself that that had never happened before. Generally, the different magical learning institutions across the globe ignore each other, unless, of course, it was time to boast of their accomplishments. For a few moments, the fact that it was a Harry James Potter who wrote the letter was forgotten as Minerva was confronted by a serious breach in educational tradition.

She almost missed what the Headmaster said next, "It was a political maneuver in the part of our Minster," the Headmaster said, and even the great Albus Dumbledore had trouble keeping the venom out of his voice when he said that, "Having failed to impress the French and the Bulgarians, he is now turning on the Americans, and while I cannot be certain, I believe that the Americans had taken this opportunity to see if the Minister is as bad as they have been led to believe"

Minerva was not interested in the political by-play, however, and she had no problem showing that to the Headmaster, "Headmaster," she said, her voice took a more urgent tone that even the Headmaster of Hogwarts would chose to ignore in his peril, "I'm not interested in that," she declared, "I am more interested in the purported author of that letter"

Albus Dumbledore nodded as he unconsciously returned his gaze at the signature at the end of the letter. He knew that whoever it is that the Americans are sending, they would be sending someone magical, for there is no point in sending a muggle or even a squib to the school. In the case of the former, he would not even see the castle, while in the case of the latter, there would be no point since he would not be able to join the classes anyway.

It stands to reason, therefore, that the student that the Americans would send is magical in every aspect, and that was where the Headmaster of Hogwarts was having a problem. His thoughts flashed back to the time immediately following the first demise of his student Tom at Godric's Hallow, in the hands of the boy-who-lived.

That Michael Potter is the Boy-who-Live, Albus had no doubt, for it was obvious that it was the older twin that had been marked – the signature lightning-shaped scar on his forehead – by the Dark Lord in accordance with the prophecy. The Headmaster was more certain that he had made the right choice when he was informed by the then Matron of the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts that while Michael Potter was magically powerful – and here, a ghost of a smile appeared on the face of the Headmaster as he remembered the baby summoning different instruments much to the irritation of the then matron – Harry Potter was not showing any signs of magic, and, in fact, the baby had been silent, not having once woke up.

Albus, assured that Harry Potter was a squib, decided to leave him in the care of his muggle relatives while sending Michael Potter to the care of one of the houses loyal to his cause, the Weasley family. When the Headmaster walked out Number Four that evening so many years ago, he was reasonably confident that that would be the last time he would be hearing the name of Harry James Potter.

Returning his attention on the paper – it was paper instead of parchment – in front of him, the Headmaster visibly fought the sigh that threatened to come out of his mouth as he realized that he was wrong on that account.

Still, the possibility exist that this lad now named Harry James Potter and coming to them was just named after the lad. The student who purportedly wrote this letter did not indicate his age, and that gave the Headmaster the opening that he needed in order to get Minerva – and he knew that his Deputy was after him – to back off, even for just a few minutes.

"Minerva," the Headmaster began in his most placating tone. It was probably a mistake since he realized that that had never worked on her before, but since he had already committed himself into using that tone, there was little that he could do, "I am sure you are wondering if this Harry Potter is the same Harry Potter that was left to be raised by his muggle relatives," and the fact that Minerva inclined her head toward the Headmaster told Albus that Minerva really believed that, "I can assure you that this is not that Harry Potter."

"Headmaster…," Minerva began.

Albus cut her off before she can continue, "the name, I admit, is incredibly suspect, but I do believe that the person who wrote this was trying to catch us off guard by using that name," he excused, "but even if that would not be the case, the age of the student was not indicated in this letter, making it quite possible that this 'Harry Potter' that would be coming to Hogwarts is just named after the real Harry Potter."

Albus caught his Deputy biting her lip, no doubt in order to stop herself from continuing this conversation. The mental shields of Minerva prevented Albus from having a cursory glance at what she was thinking, but at this juncture, Albus does not need his powerful Legilimancy in order to know what Minerva was thinking.

The Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts wanted to point out the fact that Albus had never told Michael Potter about this younger sibling, but in the past conversations that the two had over this topic, Albus had successfully convinced Minerva – even if it was just barely and even if she needed convincing every now and then – that it would be in the best interest of everyone that Michael not be informed.

A few moments of silence descended between the two highest administrators of the premier magical school of Britain, but after a few moments, the Headmaster broke that silence, "We should prepare for the arrival of Mr. Potter, if that is truly his name, to Hogwarts," he said, "As he would only be staying for a year, perhaps assigning him an empty dorm of his own would be the better option rather than placing him in one of the houses?"

It was phased as a suggestion, but Minerva knew better. She can only manage a nod as she acknowledged the instruction, biting her lip in order to prevent her from making the claim that the Headmaster was trying to ensure that Harry and Michael Potter would have no contact with each other, "If that would be all then?" she asked.

"Of course," Albus replied, he gave her one of his grandfatherly smiles, but Minerva ignored the expression, "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Minerva"

Albus watched as his Deputy Headmistress walked out of his office, utilizing the same method that she used to get in, the fireplace. Once the flames on the fireplace returned to red, Albus finally allowed his visage to collapse as he returned his attention on the letter in front of him.

A flicker of worry crossed the face of the Headmaster but even though he was alone – figuratively since the portraits of the former Headmasters are still here, and despite the fact that they are magically prevented from betraying the confidence of the Headmaster to anyone, they are also compelled to help the Headmaster whoever he is, and Albus has no illusions that he would be Headmaster forever – he schooled his features. He scanned the letter one more time, trying, in vain, to find more clues about this Harry Potter that is now coming to Hogwarts.

A sigh escaped from his lips as he turned his attention on his collection of silver instruments on the far end of his office. Every now and then, some of them would emit puffs of smoke indicating to the Headmaster that everything is alright with the lad that they are monitoring.

Albus pushed himself off of his chair and walked the small distance between his desk and the largest window in his office, the one that was positioned on the lake side of the castle, allowing him to view the lake from his vantage point. As the school was empty for the time being, the grounds around the lake was empty as well, which gave Albus a sense of peace that he knew he needed at that time.

He knew that he did not make a mistake in choosing Michael Potter as the Boy-who-Lived, and the events during the past four years that Michael Potter had been at Hogwarts vindicated his choice.

It was, after all, Michael Potter and not Harry Potter whom Lord Voldemort kidnapped in order to return to a physical body. If Lord Voldemort had been trying to eliminate Harry Potter, he would not have bothered with Michael. Albus shook his head as he returned his attention toward the silver instruments on the far end of his office, assuring himself that he made the right decision in choosing the Boy-who-Lived.

As he returned his attention to the lake below him, however, the Headmaster of Hogwarts cannot help but be worried, for his instincts are telling him that Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts would change everything, and he knew not if that change would be for the better or for the worse.

**Heathrow International Airport**

**London, United Kingdom**

**June 26, 1995**

The chaos of six thousand people arriving at almost the same time hardly mattered to the well-trained staff of one of the busiest airports in the world.

With a smile, the young man who just finished his turn at immigration told himself that if this were the magical world, the chaos would be more pronounced and uglier, but the non-magical world had progressed to the point that it can handle millions – or even tens of millions – of people travelling every day.

The young man walked pass the duty-free shops that were broadcasting their wares with passive advertisements on their walls, and as he did so, he passed by a mirror. He paused long enough in order to check his appearance, and a smile came across his face as he told himself that his appearance was proper.

The young man was not that tall, probably just four or five inches over five feet, but despite the fact that his passport proclaimed that he was already eighteen years old – it was hell for minors to travel – Harry James Potter was just a few months – actually just a few days – short of his fifteenth birthday.

Unconsciously, his left hand found itself on top of his head as Harry tried, in vain, to flatten his hair. It was unfortunate, but according to his aunt, there was no way that Harry's hair would flatten, as it appeared that his father had the same affliction.

A smile came across the face of the young man as he resumed walking to the exit of the airport. The two people who raised him, his aunt and uncle, Harry knew had no relation to his real parents. The two of them, however, are called aunt and uncle by Harry out of respect and because they are that, in every sense of that word.

The voice of the immigration agent asking, politely, for his gate pass brought Harry out of his reverie and he quickly handed the man the requested piece of paper. The agent looked over at Harry once – no doubt to remark that he does not look eighteen – but since his colleague over at the immigration desk had cleared him, there was little that he could do and allowed Harry to pass him.

It was not that hard for Harry to find the man that was sent to fetch him, for the man was holding a big card with his name on it. A smile came across the face of Harry as he approached the man who was uniformed as a chauffeur and said, "I'm Harry."

Evidently, the other man already knew that and gave him a respectful nod, "Mr. Potter," he said, giving him another nod, "We're this way, sir," he said, indicating the direction before he moved to take charge of Harry's baggage – just two bags fortunately, he was assured that other necessities can be acquired here – and added, "Your uncle also sent a letter," before he handed Harry a sealed envelope.

Harry flipped the envelope and noticed the wax seal as well as the pattern embossed on the red wax. His uncle could be old fashioned that way, and that his uncle had sent this letter, there could be no doubt, given that the embossed pattern on the wax was his uncle's personal seal.

The presence of that seal, Harry knew, prevented anyone who knew what that seal means from opening it, but since the letter was for him, Harry had no problem breaking the wax in order to access the letter within.

The uniformed chauffeur led Harry to the parking area of the airport while dragging his luggage, leaving Harry the time to read the letter. A frown made its way across his face as he finished reading the letter, but at the same time, they reached the car. Harry opened the door himself, much to the confusion of the chauffeur, though not as confused as the chauffeur became when Harry added with a smile, "You know," he said, "Sometimes, I wished my uncle would trust me not to get into trouble,"

**PROJECT 13A812 OPERATION HERMIONE Page 17**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

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**TWO**

**Diagon Alley**

**London, England**

**August 14, 1995 ACE**

As he walked through the busy streets of what was supposed to be the premier shopping destination in Magical Britain, Harry cannot help but frown. The frown on his face was the result of the fact that he had found this day's activity – visiting Diagon Alley to procure supplies for his one year in Hogwarts as the representative of the American Magical Government – to be nothing more but a waste of his time.

A frown crossed the features of Harry as he walked pass a dingy old shop that proclaimed for all those that could see that they are selling wands. The peeling gold letters over the single door to the shop proclaimed the name of the shop and of the fact that it had been selling wands since 382 B.C., a surely exaggerated claim that Harry would have found funny, if it was a question in his exams.

Given the setting, however, it only brought but a frown to the face of the young man. While it was true that one of his given purposes in arriving at Britain was to check out Hogwarts, the Secretary for Magic of the United States had also asked him to check out the situation in general. Harry was aware of just how frustrating developing any real intelligence regarding Magical Britain is, his uncle had told him often enough, and the Magical Government of the United States was taking this opportunity to see just how far they can get.

A smile graced his face as he walked past the wand store – he barely managed to suppress the urge to ram the door of the shop and inform the proprietor that wand-making did not become a skill until the late eight century and that prior to that, people make use of twigs and human bones as focus, but only in the rare instance that the person is incapable of projecting their magic without any focus – as his mind flashed to the _other_ mission that was given to him, the mission that only he and his uncle – Harry suspected that his uncle actually kept it a secret from his aunt, truly something rare since Harry knew that his uncle can never keep a secret from his aunt – are privy to.

As he continued to walk pass the store, his mind flashed back to the day when he received his _first_ wand. A standard twelve inch long, quarter of an inch thick piece of Douglas Fir with a dragon heartstring as its core, it was a wand given to _every_ student who entered the magical school that Harry entered.

There was a reason why Harry was the one chosen by the Department of Magic, and by proxy, but the government of the United States, as their representative to Hogwarts for this school year, and the fact that he graduated at the head of his class last year – in the United States, magical education ends at fifteen, in order that the student can have a few years to re-acclimate himself in the non-magical – it is not illegal, but frowned upon to use the term 'muggle' in most territories outside Britain – world. This also serves to prepare the student for possible University education.

Of course, the target of ending magical education at fifteen could only be achieved if the student had been learning about magic since he was five years old, and Harry had been learning about magic since he was five years old, that being the rule in the United States.

Another frown came across the face of Harry as he found himself thinking about that particular fact. It was common knowledge that Britain and the rest of Europe – Harry was of the opinion that they cannot help it since they are following the lead of Britain in that area – starts magical education at eleven. At eleven years of age, most children's magical core had already stabilized and that was the reason that the British use to justify their age requirement.

That reason, however, was also the reason that the Americans – and the rest of the world – used to justify starting education earlier. If a magical core had already stabilized at eleven, then it simply means that it cannot grow or shrink anymore, therefore, the size of the core of a child at eleven would pretty much be the size of his or her core for the rest of his or her life, with a few percent additions as one ages. It had, however, been proven that practice makes the core grow, which is why the Americans decided to teach their children _before_ their core are stable. Sure too much use would destroy the core of a child, but that is the reason why there are medically trained witches and wizards whose duty is to supervise, and that is the reason why there are schools.

As a result of this practice, there are fewer squibs in the whole of the United States of America than there is in the whole of England. Also as a result of this practice, the power output of an average American trained fifteen year old is larger than the power output of an average European trained twenty five year old, and this was proven in the field of Professional Duelling.

A snort escaped from the lips of Harry as he remembered reading the reply that he had received from the agency of the British Ministry in charge of dueling when he asked them why they no longer send representatives to the bi-annual World Dueling Championship.

Harry knew that the reason was because their representatives have no chance of winning the cup. It was rare for a British witch or wizard to make it to the top ten, though Harry was informed that one of his professors for this coming school year – Filius Flitwick – was a former dueling champion.

A smile came across the face of Harry as he thought about the man – well, strictly speaking, Flitwick is not a _man_ as Harry had heard rumors about his ancestry that had since been proven true outside of the European continent – and he would have rubbed his hands in excitement – the way that his other uncle would have done it – had he not been carrying the things that he had purchased for the coming school year in glee at the thought of meeting the former champion.

He idly wondered if the former champion would consent to an exhibition match with him, but even as he thought about that, he realized that the chances of that happening are slim to almost impossible, at least, while the school year is on.

As he continued to walk toward where his driver was waiting – his uncle had assigned him a driver for this trip, since the last time Harry heard, he was still in New York, preparing for the Atlantic crossing – his gaze fell on the bags full of the things that he had purchased.

A frown once more came across his face, and he did not even bother to hide it. After all, what better way to show the common people of Magical Britain that things are about to change than a foreigner frowning at them?

The frown on the face of Harry, however, was not there only because he wanted to show the people that things are changing, that frown was there because in his opinion, there is truly something to be frowned upon, and that is the state of education in this country.

If the supplies that he had just purchased were to be of any indication, he was of the opinion that there was no need for him to go to Hogwarts and observe from there, he can already make his observations from here – not that he would return home, though, for one thing, his aunt and uncle are on their way, and for another, he still has that other mission.

Quills and parchment as writing materials, the total absence of anything that runs on electricity, magic being used for everything, banned text books – he found that out when he tried to purchase a book that was not on his list and the proprietor actually considered calling in the Aurors – potion items that may not be purchased – same story with the books – and wearing robe that practically broadcast that the wearer is a witch or wizard in broad daylight, it was all wrong in Harry's book, and it was an indication of just how bad things really are.

A soft call that came from the sky made Harry smile even as he gently placed the bags containing the wares that were the result of this day long disappointing trip on the surface of the street. As soon as he was satisfied that nothing would break, he stretched his right arm to his side and waited patiently.

If there was one thing that destroyed Harry's opinion of the British Magical World completely, it was the fact that they still use owls for communications. He can understand still using letters – sometimes it is easier to use letters to tell someone something – but still using bonded familiars to carry letters sound barbaric to Harry. Of course, since there are very, very few witches and wizards that have found their familiars, it was probably not that big of a deal with the British and the Europeans.

A big white bird landed on the outstretched arm of Harry, causing the smile on his face to broaden. The snowy white owl stretched its wings – a full six feet from one tip of the wing to the other – as Harry gently stroked the back of its head.

The regal bird seemed to enjoy the attentions that she was receiving from her master for a few moments before she turned her head toward Harry. Their eyes met and a communication flowed through the two of them. Hedwig might not be able to speak like a human – and she might not be able to think like one as well – but there was no mistaking the disdain that she felt for this part of the Magical World.

Privately, Harry suspected that it had something to do with an argument that his familiar had with a local owl last night, and while Harry was not privy to the points raised in that argument – after all, he cannot think like an owl – he suspected that it had something to do with the fact that Hedwig had never had to suffer the indignity of having to carry letters for her master, something that the other owl probably took offense with since it looked proud to be carrying a letter tied to its legs.

Harry was well aware that he and his owl are making a scene at the street – aside from the fact that Harry doubted that the inhabitants of Magical Britain had ever seen an owl as big as Hedwig before, it was not every day that a wizard would stop in the middle of the street to stare at his owl – but he did not think that he and Hedwig would be enough of a sight to cause a fight.

Unfortunately, it would appear that he was wrong in that.

The first voice announcing the fight was annoying in the ears of Harry, a shrill that was too high to be considered human, with an almost banshee-like quality to it that made Harry turn toward the direction of the speaker.

"What's the matter, Granger?" the decidedly female voice said, and even Harry can detect the mocking tone that marinated the intent of the speaker, "Never seen an owl before? I guess you were reading notes when receive letters at Hogwarts."

A frown crossed the face of Harry as he instantly recognized the purpose behind those words. Bullying had never been a pastime of Harry, as was being bullied, and with an uncle like the one that raised Harry, it was also not an option.

Harry – and Hedwig – turned their attention toward the direction where the mocking voice came from and saw a family – at least, Harry suspected that they are a family, they all have red hairs – on one side and a brown haired girl – unfortunately, her back was turned toward Harry so he cannot see her features – on the other.

The frown on the face of Harry deepened as he realized that one of the red-haired females was old enough to be the mother of the other two, and he conceded that that is probably their relationship. His reaction was in response to the fact that an adult was actually consenting to bullying, more; she was consenting to a girl who was probably the same age as her own daughter being bullied.

Harry knew that the adult would not take long to come to the aid of her daughter if the brown haired girl were to bite back, and judging from the way that the two red-haired children are practically clinging to their mother, the two children expected the other girl to bite back.

"Perhaps if you have been reading you would not have nearly failed Defense last year, Ginevra," the brown haired girl bit back and she did it in such a haughty way that made Harry actually consider his planned action of coming to her aid. At the start of this verbal skirmish, it would appear that she – the brown haired girl- is capable of holding her own, but as with most battles, those that have the quantitative superiority often emerge victorious.

"Not all life is about reading books, Granger," the girl replied, and she was just as haughty as the brown haired girl – Granger – was in delivering that attack. The red-haired boy beside her tried to enter the fray – most likely to actually defend Granger which was all that Harry needed to see in order to come to the conclusion that the red-haired boy actually likes the girl that his sister was insulting – but before he can say anything, Granger bit back.

"You would know all about that, wouldn't you, Ginevra?" she asked, and though she asked that in a polite manner, there was a hint of venom in her voice, almost as if there was an implied double meaning in the words that she had just said.

Harry returned his attention to the red-haired girl – Ginervra – and noted the blush that rose on the face of the girl, its redness rivaling even her hair. A smile formed on the lips of Harry as he realized that Granger had just insulted the virtue of Ginevra.

Ginevra looked as if the last words that came out from Granger knocked her out, because when the next voice came, it came from the red-haired boy.

"You should try some quidditch sometimes, Hermione," he said. Aside from the fact that this message confirmed to Harry that the boy likes Granger – '_Hermione, what an intriguing name,'_ Harry thought to himself – it also confirmed to Harry that this boy was not the sharpest sword in the armory. His message was not related – at all – to the verbal match happening between Hermione and his sister.

Harry allowed himself the time to study the red-haired boy and he instantly felt dislike for the teen. The frayed clothes was not a factor, rather, it was the fact that the frayed clothes seem to hold grease stains at every possible inch, to Harry an indication that when food is in front of this boy, he does not think of anything else.

Hedwig suddenly took to the sky, an action that forced Harry to remove his attention from the verbal joust developing in front of him and back to his familiar even as she increased her altitude. Harry fully expect her to disappear through the clouds and had already made up his mind to have a long talk – or what passes for a talk between the two of them – later regarding her sudden action, but Hedwig suddenly stopped and turned toward the roof of a nearby building. There, Harry watched her as she took position – much like a spectator – closer to the developing joust.

It was as if she wanted to be as close to the action as possible, an action that brought a smile to the face of Harry since at that moment, he was feeling the exact same thing as his familiar and he unconsciously took a step closer to the developing bout.

The thought of leaving behind his packages, however, made him pause to reconsider not only the prospect of moving closer, but also of joining the bout. If forced to, Harry would readily admit that moving closer toward the brown-haired girl – toward Hermione – was a prelude for him to come to her aid, but this was not really his fight.

With a smile, Harry was forced to think about the letter from his uncle that greeted him when he first returned to Britain – he was aware that he was born in Britain, just as he is aware of his real history – wherein his uncle had cautioned him against taking unnecessary risks, something that his uncle was convinced he enjoyed doing.

What he was about to do, Harry realized, was to take unnecessary risks. For one thing, he does not even know who the parties are. Still – and here, Harry shook his head to wake himself up – his uncle had also told him that there is nothing wrong with coming to the rescue of someone in trouble even if they do not think themselves to be in trouble, and that such a risk is doubly rewarded when the person in trouble is a beautiful lady.

Harry might not have seen her face yet, but he was sure that Hermione is a beautiful lady. Sure, he might be stretching the definition of 'in trouble' with this intervention, but Harry honestly did not think that his uncle would fault him for intervening, at least, his uncle would stop when Harry reminds him that it was he who told Harry to do it in the first place.

A smile graced the lips of Harry as he thought about that, but before any other thought could cross his mind, Hermione returned to the fray, "What are you doing here anyway, I thought Potter was supposed to be in a hearing today?" she asked.

The use of his name made Harry pause in his steps and for a few moments, he wondered if Hermione was talking about him. Harry shook his head, however, when he realized that Hermione was most likely talking about Michael Potter.

A dark look crossed the face of Harry, marring his features from all those that were watching him. Michael Sirius Potter, Harry knew, was the boy that everyone in Britain proclaimed to be the Boy-who-Lived, the one year old who vanquished the Dark Lord Voldemort, and the Chosen One. The whole world, save for a select few, however, are not aware that Michael Potter actually has a twin and his name is Harry James Potter.

Harry had been told his real history when he asked it from his aunt when he was eight years old. He had long ago accepted that his real parents were killed by a man – his uncle refused to call him a man – whom everyone in Britain feared, even to this day, a man that was supposedly resurrected earlier this year.

Who exactly killed Voldemort during the confrontation at Godric's Hallow was something that not even Harry's aunt and uncle can tell with certainty. For all they know, it might really be Michael who killed the Dark Lord and Harry just watched, but – as his uncle had said – because they do not know what truly happened, it was also possible that it was Harry who banished the Dark Lord while Michael was unfortunate enough to have been hit by something that caused his famous lightning-shaped scar. The only other person who supposedly witnessed the exact event was – depending on who you asked – either dead or has just been resurrected. Either way, it was impossible to ask him what really happened.

Harry's guardians, however, were of the opinion that it was Michael who truly killed the Dark Lord, or at least, temporarily banished him. The past actions of the Dark Lord – the fact that he supposedly kidnapped Michael instead of Harry for his supposed resurrection ritual – pointed that out as the most logical conclusion. It is possible that the Dark Lord just lost his patience in locating Harry, but the elaborate plan seemed to argue against this notion.

"Michael is going to get acquitted," the voice of Ginevra echoing around his ear – how he truly dislike the tenor of the voice of the young girl – tore Harry out of his reverie and back into the present. Harry found himself staring at the girl, incredulity written on his face, a reaction to how utterly sure the girl appears to be that what she had just said will come to pass.

Harry is not a lawyer – his aunt and uncle are both lawyers for both the magical and non-magical world – so he cannot comment on the case of his twin brother, but that was not his primary concern right now, no, his primary concern was the fact that he had just identified this family of red-haired people.

Intelligence about Michael Potter was not always easy to come by, but it was fairly common knowledge that Michael Potter was taken and raised by the Weasley family after the death of his parents, at least, that was the official story. Years of work on the part of scholars across the pond that is the Atlantic had resulted to the unofficial story, that Albus Dumbledore had asked the Weasley family to raise Harry and that to cement the deal, the Headmaster had allowed them access to the Potter vaults. Both the official and unofficial stories, however fail to mention Harry, which was exactly what Harry's guardians wanted.

"Why did he cast the Patronus Charm in the first place?" Hermione asked. Her voice tore Harry away from his reverie once more as he realized that that is a good question. There must be a reason that the Boy-who-Lived cast a Patronus Charm.

Unfortunately, whether or not the Weasley family knew the reason behind the blatant disregard for the law of Magical Britain, Harry would never found out, because at that moment, the eldest Weasley in the bunch decided that enough was enough, "That is none of your business," Mrs. Weasley – if Harry remembered correctly, her name is Molly – said. She did not quite sniff at the direction of Hermione, but her next words had the same effect anyway, "What are _you_ doing here? Shouldn't you be at the other side of the wall? And where are your parents? I suppose they are allowing you to do your scarlet woman ways again?"

It was the first time that Harry saw Hermione flash red, and he was prepared to bet that the words of the eldest Weasley made her blood boil. To be fair, however, Harry was certain that _his_ blood would have boiled if it had been him on the receiving end of that remark.

Insult Harry and he might excuse you, but insulting his guardians was always sure to get a spark from him, and that was exactly what Molly Weasley just did.

It was unforgivable because not only was Hermione's parents brought into the fray, it was a woman who was many years older than Hermione who did the bringing. There was no way that Hermione could counter because she is supposed to respect her elders, not attack them. Hermione, however, with her next words, proved that she is not bound by such limitations, it was either that or she had just had enough – and Harry hoped that it was the latter.

"At least my parents know how to raise their children, Mrs. Weasley," she replied with a fake smile plastered on her face, "Judging from Ginervra and Ronald, I could not say the same for you."

Harry found himself smiling as those words stabbed Molly – figuratively, of course – for he knew that those would be the exact same words that he would use if he was in the shoes of this girl.

"Why you…," Molly began even as her right hand skirted to where Harry was sure she kept her wand.

'_Alright, enough is enough,'_ Harry thought to himself. He took a step forward, "Excuse me," he said, loud enough that all four of them turned their attention at him. It was the first time since this exercise began that Harry saw Hermione's face. For a few moments, their eyes met, confused but beautiful chocolate brown eyes gazed upon deep emerald before she turned her attention away from him.

"Young man," Molly Weasley said, and though Harry can see that she was not happy that she was interrupted, she still managed a smile on her face as she regarded Harry, "This has nothing to do with you, run along now to your parents"

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly even as he told himself that there was no way that Molly Weasley could have known that his parents are dead, mostly because that is exactly how Harry wants it. In any case, to claim that Harry does not have parents would not be correct, as although they are not related to him by blood, the man and woman who raised Harry as their own and whom he know honors by calling them aunt and uncle are his parents.

"Of course, madam," Harry replied, "I was just wondering why you were about to draw your wand at a girl many times your junior," he said with a pleasant smile. Harry took delight in the fact that the eyes of Molly Weasley narrowed at that, but before the overbearing woman can say anything else, Harry quickly added, "Now, Ms. Granger and I are just about to leave," he mock-bowed toward Molly Weasley before he added, "It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, though, I would be sure to add your name to my report to the Secretary of Magic," and before anyone else can say anything, he grabbed the hand of Hermione and pulled her away from the Weasley trio.

Strangely, she allowed him to drag her away from the three red-haired menaces – perhaps she realized that she was about to be outgunned in addition to being outnumbered, Harry thought to himself – but when he paused in order to pick up the things that he had purchased, she seemed to recover her senses.

She quickly – Harry would have labeled it rude if not for the fact that he could understand her reaction – removed her hand from his even as she fixed his gaze at him. Harry watched her at the same time that he watched the Weasley's – using his peripheral vision – snort toward their direction – mostly Molly and Ginevra – before they turned around with their heads held high and continued on with their trip.

"I'm sorry for interfering, but I usually do not subscribe to seeing young girls being bullied by overbearing harridans," Harry said, he used his peripheral vision to confirm that Hedwig had already gone – she was probably flying home by now, she never liked cars – before all of his attention was again focused at Hermione. He stretched his right arm toward her, offering her a handshake before he introduced himself, "Harry Potter," he said.

Harry saw the wariness in her beautiful chocolate brown orbs, a wariness that developed when she heard him mention his name, but Harry supposed that he also cannot blame her for that. It would not take a genius to realize that she and the Weasley family are not in the best of terms and if she and the Weasley's are not in the best of terms, then it can only mean that she and Michael Potter are not friends.

There was something about her, though, that made Harry want to know her more, and it was because of that that he said the next sentence that came out of his mouth, "I'm not related to Michael Potter if you're wondering," he managed a smile before he added, "At least, not closely."

The last sentence qualified his answer from a lie to truth because even if he and Michael are twins, they truly are not close and Harry never considered himself related to his twin brother.

"Obviously," Hermione replied, she still managed to retain her haughty and superior attitude, but it was obvious that it was fast fading, "The books never said anything about Lily and James Potter having another child."

Harry blinked at that, caught by surprise. It was not the fact that he was not mentioned in the books that caught him by surprise, he already knew that little tidbit of information, no, he was surprised by the fact that he actually felt something heavy on his chest when the name of his real parents were mentioned and the fact that they never had another child.

It was as if he had been rejected, something that he and his aunt had worked on before in order for him to realize that he had not been rejected, it was just that the people are ignorant. It surprised him that not all of those feelings are gone from him.

"I'm sorry, are you alright?" Hermione suddenly asked and for the second time today, her voice broke him out of his reverie. It was a good thing too, because not even Harry was sure that he could have kept his eyes dry when the weight was placed on his shoulder. He knew that he would need to have a long and hard talk with his aunt – and his uncle if possible – as soon as possible.

"Yes, I'm sorry for spacing out," Harry replied, he easily covered the fact that he was about to burst into sad tears by giving her a smile, and though genuine in every aspect, even Harry is sure that Hermione saw through the façade. He silently thanked her for not bringing it up though.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she replied, and this time, it was her who grabbed his hand instead of the other way around, although Harry's hand was already extended toward her. He pumped his hand twice before he let go, "Are you going to Hogwarts this school year, I haven't seen you before," she said.

Harry smiled at her, this time, "Why don't I tell you all about it when I bring you home?" he suggested, he glanced toward the bag that she was carrying and said, "I imagine that it would not be easy to get a ride in one of the world famous London double-deckers with the baggage that you are carrying."

Harry saw that she was about to refuse, but before Hermione can say anything, Harry said, "Don't worry, I have a driver waiting for me, and I have time to kill," and when that appeared to have not persuaded her, Harry, relying on pure instinct, suddenly added, "Little Kitten, it's usually at this point that you agree with my suggestion," with a smile.

**New York City**

**New York, United States of America**

**August 14, 1995 ACE**

Handshakes were exchanged as a couple stepped aboard the eighty six meter long motor yacht through the stern beach club of the luxury vessel. The captain of the vessel was at hand to greet the passenger – an important passenger since he owns this boat – while other members of the crew ferry bags and other packages from the rear compartment of the luxury sport-utility vehicle that delivered the owner and his wife to the boat.

Alexander Charles York, more commonly known to his friend as Alex, glanced toward his wife. She might stand five inches under his six feet two inches, but there was no denying that Emma Charlotte Spencer-York could be as intimidating as her husband when she needs to be.

Alex extended his hand toward the man that he had chosen to captain his personal yacht for the Atlantic crossing before he said, "Tyler, so nice to see you aboard, I trust that everything is as planned."

The skipper nodded, "Everything is as ordered, Mr. York," the captain replied, he glanced toward Emma and politely inclined his head toward her, "Ma'am"

Emma flashed him a smile in return but did not say anything, which was typical of the couple. When they are in public, it was usually Alex who deals with speaking and Emma would not butt in unless asked a direct question.

Alex acknowledged the report with a brief nod before he turned his attention westward, "Then we best be off as soon as we can, Captain," a ghost of a smile made itself known on his face as he added, "For this is the final leg of a journey more than fifty years in the making."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

* * *

**THREE**

**London, England**

**United Kingdom**

**August 14, 1995 ACE**

Hermione found herself staring at the black and heavy looking car in front of her. She had been immersed in the magical world since she was eleven years old, more than five years ago, but this was the first time that she had seen the two world that she had been taught since she got her first magical book should remain separated in action at the same time.

Harry was slightly in front of her – and here, she found herself wondering just how he was able to maneuver her into this position, precluding her from declining what Hermione was forced to admit is a generous offer – with a smile written on his face as he held the rear door of the sedan that he had told her belonged to his uncle open for her.

The fact that a man was holding the door open for her – or that this car screamed material wealth at her – however, was not what had Hermione gob smocked. No, it was the fact that the way that Harry held the door open for her, she could easily see that the interior of rear cab of the Bentley Brooklands sedan was larger than possible given the exterior dimensions of the vehicle.

Sure, Hermione had heard about space-expansion charms before, but she had always been taught that it was impossible for magic and muggle – especially with a modern car like this luxury sedan – to mix. Yet, here she was and she was staring at a car that seemed to break that fundamental lesson that her Muggle Studies professor – she might have dropped the class after one year, but that does not mean that she forgot what the course was trying, that being the operative word, to teach her – tried to instill on her.

A frown crossed her face at that thought, but that frown was directed more at her than at anyone, even that professor whose attitude to muggles in general had already convinced Hermione that she would not learn anything from the course. That frown was there because she was disappointed with herself; for once more, she had accepted something that an authority figure had told her as gospel truth without even investigating it for herself.

After her incident at First Year – when Ronald Weasley and Michael Potter insulted her for being a know-it-all – she had promised herself that she would never look at one thing once and accept it as the truth, that she would stand for herself even if it would mean that she would not have friends, yet, she accepted something that even her mind was telling her back then was probably a lie.

For his part, Harry kept the door open for his new companion to access the interior of the vehicle. He knew that there are many magical ways to read the mind of someone, but at this juncture, he truly does not need to use his powerful Legillimancy – the art of reading minds, he posses enough talent in it that even a practitioner of Occulumenacy would have a hard time keeping him out of their heads – in order to know what Hermione was thinking, her body language was more than enough.

A mental smirk crossed the features of Harry as he read her. Disappointment and anger at herself was prominent on the features of Hermione even if she was not aware that she was broadcasting those thoughts. To be fair, however, it would take someone exceptionally talented at reading people – like Harry or his uncle and, to a lesser extent, his aunt – to be able to get an accurate fix.

Harry was easily able to ascertain that the genesis of the thoughts on the face of Hermione was the lackluster performance of the Magical United Kingdom when it comes to education, and he was able to come to the conclusion that Hermione is probably at the top of her class, after all, if she was an average or mediocre student, she would not have cared about the fact that Hogwarts was teaching her the wrong thing.

Harry, however, had to admit that Hermione being near the top of the student list was not the reason that he had invited her in the first place. For one thing, he was not aware of that particular circumstance. The reason that he had invited her was because there was something about her that intrigued him, something that, in his fourteen – nearing fifteen – years of age, he had never felt before.

It was something that begged to be investigated, and as the mission that had sent Harry to the United Kingdom included him discovering some things about himself, he reasoned that it must be investigated.

There was also one more thing that bothered Harry. Hermione might not have noticed it, but he did call her 'Little Kitten' when he was trying to convince her to accept his invitation. A wry smile – unnoticed by anyone, least of all Hermione who was still feeling a bit of anger at herself – crossed the features of Harry at that. 'Little Kitten' was the nickname that his uncle use for his aunt, a nickname that she always seemed to enjoy, if the smile on her face every time that his uncle uses it was to be of any indication.

With his use of the nickname, Harry was forced to wonder if he had picked up more than one thing from his uncle; though given that he was a good role model, it was something that Harry was not overly concerned with.

Harry forced himself to return to the present even as he consciously stopped himself from turning his attention toward his wristwatch. Hermione being gob-smocked with the display of magic and mundane mixing together was an irritation, but it was a minor irritation, to the schedule of Harry, but since it was him who invited her in the first place – and a corner on the back of his mind giggled at him as it reminded him that he practically forced her to accept the invitation – he realized that there was little he could do to complain about it.

In any case, the schedule that he had set was not set in stone – as his uncle would have said – and flexible.

Nevertheless, Harry had no plans of waiting for Hermione to return to the present so with a barely discernable cough; he forced her to return to the present. Harry watched as she blinked in surprise and a smile came across the face of Harry as he noted the embarrassed red color that she suddenly had on her face as she realized what she was doing.

She saw the smile on the face of Harry and a frown crossed her face as she tried to decide if she should ignore or take offense with his action, after all, the smile on his face did seem as if he was amused at her antics, but before she can make a decision, Harry interrupted her thought process, "Hermione," he said, and even Hermione can tell that he consciously made the choice to use her name instead of other nicknames that she may or may not like, "Are we going to stand here all day?"

The way that that question was delivered was not insulting, so Hermione decided against huffing at his direction. She smiled at him before she shook her head and said, "I'm sorry, it's just that…," she let the thought go unfinished, though if the reason for that was because she was embarrassed at being caught unaware of something that she told herself she should be aware of or if it was because of something else, not even Hermione can answer.

"Often the best way to control people is to keep them ignorant," Harry muttered under his breath. It was obvious that Hermione was meant to hear that remark as even though he said it under his breath, it was still loud enough for her to hear. Hermione was about to comment on that, but before she could open her mouth, Harry added as he motioned for her to enter the rear cab of the sedan first, "Let's talk about it where there are less ears to hear our conversation."

Hermione would have protested at that, but the look on the face of Harry convinced her otherwise. Sure, he was still smiling when he said those words and when Hermione turned her attention at him, but there was just something on his face that convinced her that following his suggestion – '_Order, more like,'_ Hermione thought to herself – would be in her best interest.

With a nod, Hermione decided to bow to his suggestion and took the first step toward the interior of the sedan. As she had suspected, the interior of the car was larger than what the exterior suggested, and she was sure that not even a luxury vehicle of this price range would have what appears to be a four poster bed in the middle of what Hermione could only describe as a room.

Harry entered the car a few moments later and when he saw that Hermione was staring at the bed, it was his turn to blush red before he hurriedly closed the door to the room – yes, there was a door _inside_ the car, the purpose of which appeared simply to divide the sitting room from the bedroom _inside_ the car.

"I apologize about that," Harry quickly said before he motioned for Hermione to take a seat at one of the sofas in the living room. For a few moments, Hermione looked defiant – '_she probably wants to know how the modifications were made and how it was possible,'_ Harry thought to himself, silently remarking that if he was in her shoes, he would be wondering about the same thing – but she finally acquiesce to his suggestion and took a seat.

Given that there are an ample number of chairs inside the living room, Harry failed to see the need to seat beside Hermione, and he took a seat that was directly in front of the sofa that she had chosen for herself. A smile came across his face – mostly in reaction to the confusion that was evident on her face – before he made the observation, "I suppose that you have a lot of questions," he said, and Hermione was about to quickly reply – '_Of course, I have a lot of questions,'_ her rude side tried to have its way – but once more, before she can open her mouth, Harry interrupted her, "But before we go to that, would you please tell Stephen where you love first, we very well cannot drive along in circles all around London, can we?"

Hermione blinked before she nodded as she realized that Harry was correct. She, however, started looking around in an attempt to find where Stephen – and Hermione supposed that that was the name of the driver – was. Unfortunately, the whole of the rear cab of the car appeared to have been modified and no where can Hermione see the driver.

Harry came to her rescue – again – and handed her a pad of white paper. When she looked at him in confusion, Harry explained, "The paper is charmed to act like a fax machine," he said, "what you write on it automatically appears on its counterpart on the front cab," and he quickly handed Hermione a pen.

The feeling of a pen on her hand was not new to Hermione, but she still struggled to get it under control. After all, after four school year – plus summer – of writing with a quill, getting used to a pen might take some time. Despite this, however, she was able to give directions to the driver without talking with him, and a few moments later, she felt the car moving, albeit the feeling was much reduced.

"It's an effect of the space expansion charm," Harry explained when he saw the confused look on the face of his guest, he smiled before he added, "There is a total of two hundred fifty four different charms in the back of this car alone, and all of them combined gives us this," he sighed once before he continued, "Unfortunately, the number of charms in this thing made it very expensive to own, not to mention operate."

"Does it run on magic?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself. At the back of her mind, she was already making plans. If magic and muggle do indeed mix, the number of things that she could do would skyrocket exponentially, and to a keen mind like the one that Hermione posses, that was manna from heaven.

Harry shook his head, the smile still maintained on his face, though this time, there was another reason that he was smiling, for the corner of his mind reminded him that that was the first thing that he had asked when he first saw this unique car when he was eleven, "Were that the case, then it would be cheaper to maintain this vehicle," Harry replied, but before Hermione can come back, he quickly added, "Magic and mundane do mix, but it takes a lot of effort and power sources also mix. The engine of this car runs on petrol, albeit at an increased consumption owing to the fact that space expansion charms can only do so much, while the charms run on active magic, much as we want to run on passive magic, it's just impossible owing to interference."

Hermione frowned at that, instantly realizing what Harry meant. The top student of Hogwarts knew that there is a world of difference between active and passive magic. The latter could run potentially indefinitely, so long as there is a source of magic somewhere, while the former could run only if the magic running it was renewed regularly. The latter, Hermione knew, is like solar power while the former is an internal combustion engine.

"What interference?" Hermione asked.

"Magic and mudane do mix, but they do not do so naturally," Harry explained, "The difficulty in making them mix is directly related to how complex and complicated what you want it to do, and this car is pretty complex."

"I can see why it's expensive," Hermione commented under her breath. That thought, however, was not enough of a deterrent to stop her from thinking about what could be done by combining magic and muggle. After all, if it was possible, then it would certainly be a crime not to try. In any case, she was sure that someone would find a way to run pass that interference that Harry was talking about.

Harry smiled at her, though much as he enjoyed talking with her about technomancy – the term that Americans and most of the world used to refer to the practice of mixing magic and mundane – with Hermione – and here, Harry suspected that whatever the topic is, so long as he is speaking with Hermione, he would not get bored – it was not the reason that he asked for her to accompany him.

Sure, his main reason was the simple reason that he wanted to escort her home and sometimes, that was all the reason that one needs, but in this case, there was something else. Harry wanted to know about Hogwarts even before he stepped foot in it.

Sure he had been briefed before he boarded the jumbo jet that took him across the Atlantic, but he was sure that that briefing was biased, whether for or against Hogwarts really should not matter. He wanted to hear about the world famous school of magic from someone who had been and who is still attending the school.

Hermione, Harry knew, would be biased for the school, it was impossible for her not to given that she is attending that school, but Harry truly does not care about that. He needs to form an opinion on the school and for that, he needs to hear from both sides of the fence.

Now his problem would be how to breach the topic to Hermione, though in hindsight, he realized that there was never a problem regarding that as Hermione would be the one who would breach the topic for him.

She did not disappoint, "Harry," she said – and a smile came across the face of Harry at that, somehow, hearing her say his name made him smile – as she turned her gaze at him, "I've never seen you at Hogwarts before, and if you have been to Hogwarts before, then you would know that I could take care of myself even if the Weasley matriarch pulled her wand on me, so I ask, where do you go to school?"

Harry studied her features for a few moments and found himself wondering why she looked hesitant to ask him that question. Harry, however, dismissed it, reasoning to himself that his guest probably thought that it was improper to ask those kinds of questions, "I came from the United States," Harry informed her, and as he had expected, the eyes of Hermione lighted up when he made the announcement.

Harry was sure that it was because she saw him as a source of information on how the magical society of the Americans and the rest of the world function, something that Harry would have expected, given the poor amount of resources that the magical governments of Europe seem to devote to learning about societies outside their own. In his visit to the bookstore, Harry counted the books explaining the magical culture of communities outside Europe on one hand with five fingers to spare, meaning, there were none.

For her part, Hermione told herself that she should have seen it the moment that she saw this car. After all, given the amenities included in this vehicle, the only ones who would own such vehicles would be governments and they could only be used by ambassadors.

If that were true, then that only means one thing, and with that, Hermione turned her wide eyes toward Harry and asked, "Are you the son of the American ambassador?"

Harry blinked in surprise, but after a few moments, he started laughing silently. He allowed himself to release his mirth for another two seconds or so – anymore, and he was sure Hermione would have pummeled him, and she looked ready to do that as well – before he said, "No, my parents were born in Britain," and the smile on his face disappeared as he added, "And they are buried here as well."

Hermione visibly deflated at that, she turned her attention toward Harry and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Harry waved the apology aside, "It's alright," he assured her, the smile back on his face. He let out a small mental sigh before he added, "I was one year old when they were killed by Voldemort," – Harry was pleased to see that Hermione did not flinch like her countrymen always seem to do whenever the name was mentioned – "but I was out of the house when he came calling, with my governess," which Harry knew was a lie, but it was the story that he agreed upon with his aunt and uncle.

"She brought you to the United States?" Hermione asked, curious despite her subconscious – and even conscious – mind telling her not to delve into the personal life of the young man in front of her.

Harry shook his head, "No," he informed her, "I was given to be raised by the sister of my mother and her husband, but they proved to be unfit," – technically, that was not a lie, his uncle assured him that the sister and brother-in-law of his mother was unfit – "so my aunt and uncle stepped in and adopted me before taking me to the United States," and that, again, was a lie, as there was no formal adoption process before they went to the United States.

The adoption process was finalized there, though Harry knew that it was the help of the influence that his uncle wielded with the American government.

"I have been attending Columbia Academy of Magic since I was six years old," Harry volunteered. He smiled when he saw the look of surprise on the face of Hermione, but before she can ask additional questions, Harry quickly added, "I graduated from the Academy last year"

"But..," Hermione began. She wanted to argue about how unwise it was for children younger than eleven to start learning magic, but when she realized that her only argument to support that claim was because she started learning when she was eleven herself, she decided against arguing.

"We start young," Harry told her, "So we end young as well, gives us time to reacclimatize ourselves to the muggle world in preparation for University level studies," he smiled as he added, "My aunt and uncle are both magicals, and they are also both lawyers, my uncle even finishing his Masters of Law when he was thirty."

Hermione bit back a reply. She wanted to become a lawyer as well when she was younger, but when she was informed that she was magical, she realized that that dream would remain just that, a dream. There was no way that she would be accepted at University – and it does not matter how smart she is – without having gone through muggle education.

She was ready to rant at the unfairness of the situation, but before she could open her mouth, her conscious mind reminded her that it was not the fault of Harry, and that ranting at him about something that he possibly had nothing to do with would not leave a good impression at him. For someone who only cared about the impression of her parents at her, Hermione found it surprising that she wanted to give a good impression of herself to Harry

She had to admit that she was envious of Harry who seemed ready to go to University, and that, in turn, influenced the tone of her voice when she asked him, "What are you doing here then?" though she realized that she was being rude the moment that the last syllable left her mouth.

Harry waved aside her apology even before she can even begin apologizing. He had already noted that she was going to say something to that effect when he saw her reaction at his announcement that his aunt and uncle had a university degree. In his mind, he cannot blame Hermione for the tone that she had used, after all, it was obvious that she wanted the same thing, but cannot obtain because of the circumstance that the British Magical World had imposed upon her.

Harry sighed once before he answered her question, "I was sent here at the request of your government," he replied, answering her question, and when he saw the confused look on the face of Hermione, he decided to add a bit more information, "Your Minister wants the opinion of the Americans before he moved to introduce educational reforms," and that, Harry knew, was a lie.

The truth was, the Minister wanted a representative from the Americans to go to Hogwarts simply because the Minister wants the students to know that the American Magical Government supports his government.

"Would he start implementing the same education that you went through?" Hermione asked. The tone of hopefulness that she had used vindicated the earlier assumptions of Harry that Hermione also wanted to earn a mundane degree.

"I would recommend it to the Minister at the end of my stay after this school year," Harry replied amicably, though he was confused when he saw that when he announced that he would only be staying for one year, there was a hint – okay, it was a big hint – of disappointment on the face of Hermione. Strangely, when Harry saw her disappointment, he also felt disappointment within himself as his subconscious started to find excuses to stay for more than one year.

Mentally, Harry shook his head, however. His stay at Hogwarts was just a cover in order for him to accomplish the _real_ reason that he was sent here in the first place. The item, Harry knew, was located in Hogwarts, but where in the vast castle exactly, no one knows.

"Tell me about Hogwarts, Hermione," Harry suddenly said. Hermione turned her attention toward Harry, a confused expression written on her face, but before she can say anything, Harry added, "Tell me about how normal days in the castle are, your classes, how are they like, your professors, who they are and how do they teach, those sort of things."

Hermione looked hesitating in fulfilling the request, but when she saw the excited look on the face of Harry, she cannot help but grin as she told herself that there was no harm in helping someone, Merlin knows she wanted to be helpful, but her attitude had driven people away from her more than they had driven people to her. With a mental sigh, she started to answer all of the questions that Harry had about her school even as she subconsciously wished that Harry lied to her about the duration of his stay at the castle.

**Aboard the **_**Emma Charlotte**_

**Six hours east of New York Harbor, en route to the Bahamas**

**August 14, 1995 ACE**

For the man seated at the lounger located at the aft end of the sundeck of the eighty six meter motor yacht as it cut through the waves on its way to its next port of call at the island of Bahamas, the setting sun had always held a special meaning.

Beside him, the sound of running water as his companion lounged on the built-in Jacuzzi continued, but even that was not enough to remove his gaze from the sun that was slowly sinking beneath the waves and the lights of the city that he had left.

"You seem distraught about something," Emma said as she made her way out of the Jacuzzi to join her husband at the comfortable chairs. As she walked toward him, she draped a bath towel around her body, covering her more amply than the blue two piece bikini that she was wearing was more than capable of.

Alex turned his attention away from the setting sun when he felt his wife take the seat beside his. He did more than that as he placed the base of the wine glass that he was holding – nearly empty – on the surface of a nearby table. That done, he turned his attention toward her and with a smile, he asked, "Does it seem that way?"

For a reply, Emma smiled, "I've been married to you for more than half of my life, it's not surprising that I can tell," she reminded him. There was a pregnant pause as an uncomfortable silence descended between the two of them. Emma broke that silence, "Are you thinking about Harry?"

Alex shook his head, "He is more than capable of doing the things that we asked him to do despite me claiming otherwise," he replied. A few moments later found his right hand rested on the thigh of his wife as her side pushed against his. Alex embraced her from behind using only his right arm while she rested her head on his right shoulder, "You are the one worried about him," he said, and it was not an accusation, but a statement.

Emma did not even bother to hide it, "Of course I am," she replied, she did not even remove her head from his shoulder, but there was no mistaking the scalding temperature of her voice when she said, "I might not have given birth to him, but he is my son, in more ways than one."

Alex fought the urge to sigh as his right hand gently started to caress the thigh of his wife, it was but one way that he was aware of to calm her down, and he was hoping that it would be more than enough, though he had to admit that he was prepared to carry her back to their suite in the main deck should it prove necessary.

The purr of pleasure that involuntarily came from his wife told Alex that what he was doing was more than enough, but when she opened her mouth, the question that came tore right at his heart, "Would you be happier if I stop worrying about him?" she asked.

Alex shook his head even as he called on his patience, "Of course not," he replied, rather curtly. He inhaled once as he reigned in his temper before he added, "It's not surprising that we feel a sense of worry about him, Love, after all, we raised him."

"Yet you did not hesitate to volunteer him when the question of volunteers came up," Emma pointed out. Unlike her first words, the tone that she had used when she said this was devoid of any accusation, it was just a statement.

"It was his destiny," Alex replied, his hold on his wife tightened before he added, "He is a weapon, as I told you all those years ago"

"Do you regret my decision to take him in, then?" Emma asked and even though the temperature of the tone of her voice was again rising, she did not even try to pull away from the embrace of her husband.

"Do you doubt me?" Alex asked instead, ignoring the question that she asked.

The scoff that came out of Emma in response to his question brought a frown to the face of her husband, but she kept himself impassive, "Of course not," she replied, and in a low voice, she added, "Sir"

Alex sighed, "I want you to doubt me, Emma," he replied, this time, she pushed herself away from him so that she may stare at him with an incredulous expression written on her face, "We have been married for more than ten years, ground me, Love, for I am not perfect."

Emma did not deign to reply to the words of her husband, allowing him to ask her, "Would you have preferred that we wait until he is ready? Until we are sure that there would be no danger to his life before we finally send him out to the world?"

There was no hesitation in the reply of the beautiful woman this time, "No, this is the right time," she replied, she looked at him and said, "But it does not do anything to calm my nerves or stop me from worrying about him"

"And no one is asking you, Love," Alex replied, he opened his arms and without hesitation, Emma snuggled with him once more, "You are entitled to worry about Harry, as you said, he is your son, but this time would come even if his real parents had been the ones to raise him," he shook his head even as he started to caress the hair of his wife, "We adults can only do so much to prepare the generation that come after us," he shook his head, "This is their time."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

* * *

**FOUR**

**Temporary Residence of Harry Potter**

**London, England, United Kingdom**

**August 14, 1995 ACE**

Harry stared at the screen of the portable computer in front of him. The moment that he returned from the trip to Diagon Alley, he told himself that the first thing that he would do was to compose a report for the Secretary of Magic.

It was, he reminded himself, part of his official mission, and he had to admit that there are a lot of choice words – most of them curses, not that he would ever admit that to his aunt – that he wanted to add to the report that he was supposed to send, but the problem was while he already know the words that he wanted to use, he still had not started with the report.

Instead, for the last two hours, he had found himself staring at the empty screen of his portable computer without, however, truly staring at the empty screen, for it appeared that his mind had superimposed the image of Hermione between his eyes and the empty display. No matter how many times he shook his head in the past hour – or two – that image had not banished.

A snort came from within Harry as he reminded himself that back in Columbia, he had never ran out of dance partners in the annual parties that the Academy of Magic celebrate, seemingly once every three weeks to one month. He had also had one girlfriend before, a former classmate of his with whom he broke up just two weeks before the end of his final year in the Academy because she was moving to the west coast and because Harry – disrespectful as it may be – had grown tired of her.

Harry just cannot imagine spending the rest of his life with a woman who would agree with his every suggestion as if it was a command. Harry supposed that it was to be expected, after all, his first role model of a relationship was his aunt and uncle and while his aunt would never contradict his uncle in public, in private, it was a different story.

A soft sigh escaped from the lips of Harry as he forced himself to return to the present. His fingers flexed a little as he positioned them over the keyboard of his computer as if he was preparing to press the keys, but he had been repeating this exercise close to more than two dozen times in the past two hours alone. He knew what he wanted to write, he just could not find the proper way to write it. He would not be an idiot and send a report to the Secretary of Magic of the United States that begin with, '_this place sucks,"_ unless he had a wish to be sent back home, and having met Hermione, that was the last thing that Harry wanted.

The mere mention of the name of the girl that he had met this morning caused Harry to pause once more. There was something about her that intrigued him, something about her that was practically begging him to come and find out what that something is, and Harry James Potter had never been one to decline an invitation, not when it was couched in the way that Hermione gave it to him.

Harry shook his head and once more forced himself to return to the present. For a few moments, he found himself staring at the screen again, and while the image of Hermione was still there, he had managed to ignore the image long enough for him to wonder if he should contact his aunt in order to speak with her about this. Much as Harry loves his uncle, he knew that the man just is not the right man to speak with regarding this problem.

Of course, the fact that Harry used the nickname, 'Little Kitten' when he referred to Hermione was practically mimicked from his uncle who uses the same nickname for his aunt when he thinks that the two of them are alone. Harry, who used to sneak around a lot in their New York residence when he was younger, had caught his uncle using that nickname more than enough times.

Harry found his head slumped on the desk in front of him – on the surface of which, his portable computer rested – as his thoughts once more turned to Hermione. He had dropped her off at the front of the driveway of her modestly-sized house located on the outskirts of London, but because of time constraints, he had politely refused her offer that he come inside and meet her parents – and Harry knew that her parents were home because he had spotted two cars on the parking garage adjacent to the house.

From there, it had been a relatively short trip – just under an hour – to travel back through the streets of London and into this temporary house. Although it was made to appear as if it was a house that his guardians had managed to find for him to use while he was in the British Isles, Harry knew enough to ascertain that this house is actually a safe house, though a safe house intended for whom and for what purpose, he was still trying to ascertain.

From the fact that he was sent to a safe house, Harry knew that it is not only the American Secretary of Magic and the American Department of Magic that were watching him and counting on him. For all that the young man knew, he was probably sent here by the Central Intelligence Agency, and it was quite possible that the American President was aware that he was here, though the latter was mostly conjecture brought about by the fact that his uncle frequently refer to the President not only by his first name, but with familiarity that seem to indicate that his uncle was a personal friend of the – arguably – most powerful man in the world.

Harry slowly lifted his head off of the surface of the desk and a few moments later found him once more staring at the blank screen. The portable computer had practically turned itself off, as if it was bored with the idleness of Harry, and seeing the blank screen seemed to inspire a rare lazy attitude within Harry. A sigh escaped from his lips before his right hand reached for the back of the screen of the portable computer.

Harry was about to pull the screen down and thereby shut down the computer, but at the moment that his hand touched the back of the monitor, the screen lighted up. At the upper right corner of the screen, there was a flashing icon that demanded the attention of Harry.

With the laziness almost already set in within his very bones, Harry reacted slowly, but once he saw the flashing icon – more importantly, once he saw the address that was flashing below the flashing icon – every ounce of laziness that threatened to sap his strength banished and a renewed sense of energy sprung from well within him, as if the laziness in his bones had instantly transformed into a pepper-up potion.

Almost immediately after he saw the flashing icon, he sat up straight, his chin held high and his eyes alert. Once he was sure that he would not be mistaken as slacking off, he clicked on the flashing icon.

Instantly, a huge rectangle dominated his screen and by pressing the maximize button, Harry was able to manipulate the said box so that it was the only thing in his screen. Inside the box, Harry can easily distinguish the features of his uncle, despite the fact that he was probably more than a thousand kilometers west of his current position. In fact, he was so far that Harry could see that there was still enough natural light outside the yacht – and Harry knew that his uncle was aboard the yacht – for Harry to ascertain that the sun had probably just set in the time zone where his uncle is.

"Uncle," Harry greeted his uncle, the smile on his face genuine. It might have been less than a week since he last saw the man, but Harry – though he would not admit it – misses his uncle.

His earliest memory of the man had been him still crawling on the floor as he desperately tried to get his attention. Although Alex York had been a strict father figure to Harry, never hesitating to punish him if he had done something wrong, he had never failed to show the proper care and love to Harry. Alex might not have showered Harry with love, but it was still there nonetheless.

Aside from the fact that his uncle was one-half of the couple that raised him, Harry was very grateful to the man. He had been told since he was young that he and his uncle are not related by blood, but Alex still took him in, and had been Harry's first teacher when it comes to magic and defense. Back in the United States, it was not uncommon for Harry and Alex to don sparring gear every weekend so that they can practice martial arts.

Alex smiled as he inclined his head toward the direction of his nephew, or more accurately, toward the direction of the small camera that was located above the screen of his own portable computer, "Hello, Harry," he said a few moments later.

For as long as Harry could remember, his uncle had never referred to him as 'nephew'. Harry never asked him why, though he had long suspected that it was because his uncle was – subconsciously or otherwise – reminding himself that Harry and he are not really related by blood. Of course, the omission did not bother Harry as he knew that his uncle refer to him as his nephew whenever Harry is out of earshot.

A few moments of silence descended between the two men as they both tried to find something to talk about. Harry suspected that his uncle made the call in order to check up on him, but he also knew that Alex York would not be the first one who would bring that up.

Aware of this, Harry decided to open the conversation, "Where's Aunt Emma?" he asked.

A small smile came across the face of his uncle as the name of his wife was mentioned. Harry had long noted that his uncle would always smile whenever the name of his aunt would be brought up, and it does not matter who it was that brought her name up. Harry was told – by old friends of his uncle, whom he had met before – that his uncle would have the same reaction even if it was an enemy who brought her name up, and even if it was only to insult Emma Spencer-York. Of course, those same friends claimed that insulting Emma Spencer-York was the last thing that many enemies of his uncle in the past had done before they found out for themselves if afterlife existed or not.

The earliest memory that Harry has of his aunt had been Emma Spencer-York singing him to sleep. That lullaby that his foster mother had used to charm him to sleep had been ingrained deeply in the mind of Harry and would probably still cause him to be drowsy should it ever come out of her mouth again. Fortunately, she was the only capable of singing that particular lullaby.

"She's tied up at the moment," Alex replied, the smile on his face almost a smirk. Harry fought the urge to frown as he found himself wondering just how literal the last words of his uncle really are. Harry knew enough of the personal life of his aunt and uncle to know that they role-play in the bedroom, though how far they had taken that role-play, Harry does not – and quite frankly, does not want to – know.

Harry, aware of where this conversation might possibly go, made the decision to trek back to territory that he can be comfortable with, "I've received your letter," he informed his uncle, a frown came across his face – and he noted that his uncle smiled at the sight of it – before he continued, "Uncle, I am nearly fifteen years old, can you not trust me to not get into trouble for once?"

Alex smiled, and as typical of the man, he went straight to the point, "No," he replied bluntly and to the point.

The frown on the face of Harry deepened, but whatever it was that his uncle wanted to say was not enough, "The last time that your aunt and I took that chance, we found ourselves in the office of the Principal for High School in Columbia," Alex added, and in a more serious tone, he concluded, "it was a good thing that your principal was an old classmate of mine, who knows what he would have done."

Harry grimaced in his seat as he was reminded of that incident. He fought the urge to remind his uncle that it was not his fault that one of his classmates decided to not only sneak into the female dormitories with the intention of raiding their wardrobes, but also to do so after they had emptied four bottles of local whiskey. To make matters worse, it was Harry who procured the whiskey, and he got it from the personal supply of his uncle after his uncle had trusted him with the keys to the cellar under their house.

Needless to say, they were caught. In fairness, Harry puking his stomach on the front porch of the female dormitory was not the best thing to do if one wanted to sneak into the male-restricted zone. Come to think of it, sneaking through the front door was also not something that would earn them praises from those who inhabit the criminal underworld.

The punishment that Harry received from the school was detention for one whole month – apparently, the principal agreed with his uncle that because the actual raid was not consummated, Harry and his friends could only be punished for being drunk inside campus – but that was nothing compared to the disappointment that his uncle had shown to him.

To Harry, the fact that his uncle refused to speak with him unless absolutely necessary for the next whole month was worse, and it was compounded by the fact that he was serving detentions in school as well. In hindsight, it was a good thing that his uncle was not speaking with him; he shuddered as he thought about how his uncle would have beaten him in sparring if they had continued with that arrangement.

To top it all off, Alex took Emma to Britain at the end of that month and Harry was left behind in New York as his final punishment. He had looked forward to returning to Britain as well, but now that he is here, he had to admit that he should probably be thankful that his uncle left him behind.

Harry had no desire of bringing that particular incident into the limelight again, so he decided against continuing this particular path of the conversation, but with no topic in his head, he was forced to take in the next comment of his uncle without an effective rejoinder, "This time, if you pull something as stupid as that, I doubt me knowing your principal would have any effect, you would be causing an international incident, after all," before Alex smiled.

Harry fidgeted at his seat, and despite the fact that his uncle was more than two days away – by boat, of course – Harry could feel the implied threat coming from him. With no effective rejoinder, Harry was forced to agree with his uncle.

With a nod, Harry said, "I would try to remember that,"

"Make sure that you do," Alex replied. When he said his first words, the smile was on his face, but that smile quickly disappeared as he added, "We cannot afford to be sidetracked by some simple juvenile tendencies, Harry, you have a mission to fulfill, and I am not talking about this stupid 'auditing' mission that Christian sent you to."

Harry nodded, "I remember the mission, uncle," Harry replied, his tone insisting but his manner befitting one who is sure that he would be able to accomplish the mission that was given to him. For a few moments, Harry thought that the hard eyes of his uncle had softened, but it was gone before Harry could confirm it and that led him to conclude that it was probably an illusion brought about by the lights and the delay in the data transfer.

This method of communication, after all, was only in its experimental stage.

"It would not be easy," Alex commented a few moments later. There was a faraway look on his face, as if he was remembering something, but before Harry could comment on that – and he knew that that is the only way that he could ask his uncle because posing a direct question would be met by his uncle with a question of his own – Alex continued, "A lot of eyes would be focused on you when you get to that castle, Harry, and you might not find the time to concentrate on your real objective, not when you are supposed to be pretending to be a student as well,"

"I would lead them on a merry chase," Harry promised his uncle. Below the desk, his fists tightened as he made a promise to himself that he would not disappoint his uncle – seeing his uncle disappointed at him once was more than enough.

For a few moments, Alex held his tongue. The silence that his uncle had initiated grew uncomfortable for Harry and he was about to open his mouth to say something and break the silence, but his uncle chose that moment to speak, "I would wish you luck," his uncle began before a smile cut across his face, "but I know that you would not need it."

Harry was about to show humility, but his uncle evidently was not yet done. From across the open sea of the Atlantic Ocean, Alex added something that made the heart of Harry want to jump, "In more ways than one, you are my son, I am sure that you would not fail."

Harry nodded, unable to voice even a single thought that came flooding across his mind. Even though his uncle had never denied that Harry is his nephew – despite the fact that he never acknowledged it while Harry was around – this was the first time that Harry knew of that his uncle had openly acknowledged something that his aunt had acknowledged from the very start.

A few moments later, a simple, "Yes uncle," was the only thing that Harry could say in response.

Once more, silence descended between the two. This time, however, the general discomfort that Harry felt the first time that the silence descended did not materialize, he was still floating in response to the fact that his uncle had acknowledged him.

It was, again, left to Alex to break the silence, and he did so a few moments later. The words that came out of him indicated that they were back in business, "Tell me of your impressions of Britain, Harry," he ordered.

The tone alerted Harry that his uncle was back in business, and he knew that the only response from him that would be accepted must be made in a business-like tone as well. It was hard for him to resume the business-like tone that he knew was proper – he might have lost altitude, but he was still mostly floating – but when he spoke, his uncle did not countermand him, "It's a beautiful country, uncle," he replied, "I see why you like it."

Alex smiled, "Yes," he replied, he politely inclined his head toward his nephew, acknowledging the compliment as if it was intended for him, before he continued, "And the magical side? Do you hold it in the same regard?"

Harry did his best to ensure that no snort would come out of him, but in that endeavor, he was not entirely successful. His uncle ignored whatever impropriety came out of Harry, however, allowing Harry to report, "Nothing but contempt," Harry replied, his tone sure.

A few moments later, however, he qualified his earlier statement, "Well, not most of them," he said.

The smile on the face of his uncle encouraged Harry to continue, so that was exactly what he did, "I've been trying to compose a report for the Secretary, but I am afraid that I cannot express even a single word," he added.

"You're distracted," Alex said a few moments later. It was not phased as a question, and it was not a question, that much Harry knew. It was an observation.

"Yes," Harry replied, having failed to see what could be gained by lying in front of the man who had raised him. He was sure that his uncle would have seen through the lie even if he had attempted it, "I met a girl this morning, a young woman actually."

There was no smile on the face of his uncle, but Harry knew his uncle long enough to know that there was a hint of amusement lurking just underneath the façade that he presented to Harry, and Harry was sure of this though his uncle did not say anything.

"She told me a lot about Magical Britain, uncle," Harry added a few moments later and even he was not sure if he was excusing his earlier actions or if it was something else, "and she is in the year of Michael Potter."

Alex might have never referred to Harry as his son or nephew – at least in front of Harry before – but the same was true for Harry when it comes to his twin brother. From the moment that he had learned discernment, Harry had never considered Michael Potter as his brother despite the fact that he had been told by his aunt and uncle that he and Michael are twins. His aunt and uncle never insisted that Harry acknowledge the familial bond so that may have had some effect.

"And?" Alex asked, one of his eyebrows rising, the only indication that Harry needed in order to know that not only was his uncle aware that there is more to his report, he was impatiently waiting for Harry to add that detail.

"She intrigues me, uncle," Harry finally admitted five seconds later. There was no way that he could keep that lie from his uncle anyway and despite the distance between the two – which prevented his uncle from using his legilimancy, against which, the mind shields of Harry were of no use despite being one of the most formidable amongst the members of the American Mind Arts Society – Harry knew that his uncle could still read him like an open book, "I am planning on inviting her out for dinner sometime this week, to get to know her better."

For the first time since the conversation began, Alex openly laughed, "And I imagine that you would be asking her if she has a boyfriend when you go out for dinner, Harry," he said. The statement caused a blush to appear on the face of Harry, something that made his uncle laugh harder, "Ah, to be young again," he commented.

Harry fought the urge to frown at that statement, and he was somewhat successful in that. Harry knew that his uncle met his aunt when they were children, literally. His aunt had never tired of retelling the story to Harry every now and then and when Harry was younger, his aunt used to tell him the story couched as a fairy tale whenever Harry would request for one from her – he never bothered asking his uncle; that was like asking an incoming storm to disperse, impossible.

Since the moment that the two of them had first met, Harry knew that his aunt and uncle had never separated. Sure they went to separate schools when they reached college – his uncle continued in Columbia while his aunt went to the University of the City of New York – but that did not stop their relationship. The same friends of his aunt and uncle that had warned Harry about how his uncle is always smiling when the name of his aunt was mentioned in his presence had told him of how, even when they were younger, they were sure that Alex and Emma would someday be married.

"It's not as if I am going to ask her to marry me, uncle," Harry replied a few moments later, his mind having returned to the present.

Alex shook his head, "I know," he assured his nephew. A soft sigh escaped from the lips of Alex before he added, "I am just remembering that that was exactly what I told myself back when I first met your aunt."

Harry wanted to retort, but he was once more left with no effective rejoinder, so he was forced to keep his mouth shut. Alex, apparently, had also left out of things to say and a few more moments later, he yawned before he said, "I better go check on your aunt, I'm sure she'll call you as soon as she can."

"Yes sir," Harry replied, but even if he said that, he made no move to terminate the call. As the one who initiated the call in the first place, that task should be left to his uncle.

Evidently, however, Alex had one last thing to say, "Your aunt and I would be arriving in Britain in time for us to join you for the last weekend before the start of term," Alex informed Harry, "The estate in Richmond would be opened for us and I expect you to join us there, in fact, you would be joining your aunt and I as we travel north from the Channel, I'll send you the details as soon as they are finalized."

Harry could only nod. He knew that he really does not have a choice in that, but it helped that he wanted to go to the Richmond, "I would wait for the details, uncle," he assured the man on the other end of the line. Harry watched as his uncle gave him a nod before the message was terminated, and once more Harry was left alone in the room that he had chosen for himself, his next course of action unknown even to himself.

A soft sigh escaped from the lips of the young man as he suddenly remembered something. A smile quickly formed on his face as he realized that while he had already told his uncle about his plan to invite Hermione to dinner within the week, he had not actually made plans yet. Toward that end, his next course of action was certain.

During the trip from the center of London to the house of Hermione, Harry had managed to ask for her home number. The excuse that he gave was that he needed it in case he needed to talk to Hermione before the start of term in regard to the other requirements that Harry supposedly – and that was a big fat lie – forgot to procure during the trip.

There was actually a longing smile on the face of Harry as he made his way to the telephone inside this room. A few more moments later – during which time he input the sequence of numbers that Hermione had given him – and Harry found himself listening on the rings of the phone.

It did not take long before the phone was answered, but while Harry was hoping that it would be Hermione who would pick up the phone, he knew that that would be too much hope. In this regard, he was correct as the voice that greeted him from the other end was that of a man, "Hello?" the unknown voice on the other end asked.

"Good evening sir," Harry replied, the protocols that his aunt had drilled unto him almost automatically taking over, "This is Harry Potter, may I please speak with Ms. Hermione Granger, please?"

There was a pause on the phone as the person on the other side processed that information. The silence lasted several seconds and for a few moments, Harry was sure that the speaker on the other end had put the phone down to get Hermione, but Harry could still hear the breathing of the man on the other end when he sharpened his hearing a few moments later.

"I'm sorry," the voice on the other end finally replied, "This is Richard Granger, Hermione's father," he introduced himself, "My daughter and her mother are currently out in the park and having a chat about you, Mr. Potter."

The way that Richard Granger delivered that message was threatening and cordial at the same time and even Harry was not sure how he should react to it. He tried to find the proper reply from his mind, but fortunately, he was saved from having to reply when Richard Granger's voice came over the phone again, "In all my life, I have never seen my daughter gushing out about a friend that she had made," there was a pause before he added, "Come to think of it, I haven't actually seen her talking about making a friend since she left for that nuthouse of a school in Scotland," – and here, Harry smiled as he realized that Hermione's own parents do not approve of Hogwarts – "you must be special," Richard concluded.

Harry was again about to show off his humility, but before he had the chance, Hermione's father cut him off once more, "Tell you what, why don't you and I meet tomorrow?" he suggested, "I promise I'll bring Hermione along."

There was no problem with that as far as the schedule of Harry was concerned, but he was hesitant, understandably. He also quickly discovered that, like his uncle, the father of Hermione can make an order seem like a question.

"I promise I won't eat you," Richard Granger said a few moments later, apparently, he sensed the hesitation that Harry was going through, "And since it's a weekend tomorrow, I imagine that you would be allowed outside, we'll even pick you up."

Harry was still hesitant, but when Richard Granger repeated a detail that he had already told Harry a few moments ago – specifically that Hermione would be there – suddenly, any inkling of resistance within Harry collapsed, "I'd be delighted to meet with you tomorrow, Mr. Granger," but even as he said that, he cannot help but feel as if he had just signed his own death warrant.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

**Granger Residence**

**London, United Kingdom**

**August 15, 1995 ACE**

Harry grimaced even as he inhaled. Even to the fourteen year old – turning fifteen in a few days – the action seemed as if he was consolidating his strength for the coming confrontation, but given who he was about to confront, Harry guessed that this was a normal reaction.

On his right hand, he held a delicate bouquet of six flowers, and on his other, a box wrapped in paper with a delicate looking red ribbon on top of it. He might have been invited, but there was no way that he was going to forget his manners, and showing up with flowers for the lady of the house was a matter of course. The box, on the other hand, contained a cake that Harry had purchased himself this morning and was intended for the family that had invited him.

All that, however, did nothing to calm the nerves of Harry as he walked toward the front door of the house that he had been told is the Granger family home. A narrow walkway – flanked on either side by obviously carefully tended flowering plants – led from the sidewalk to the front door of the house, and though Harry did not have the time – at least, not enough time – he was still observant enough to be able to note that while the house of the Granger family did not scream opulence and wealth, it did not need to.

Admittedly, he had noticed this the first time that he had been here, when he dropped Hermione off yesterday after her trip to Diagon Alley. The house might not seem that much different from the other houses in this block, but the presence of two sedans parked in the garage of the house told Harry all that he needed to know. For one thing, both cars, while not top of the line, are not cheap, and both looked new. Harry knew that that along was not enough, but he knew enough about cars to know that the two sedans parked in the Granger garage – a silver BMW and a black Mercedes Benz – are not cheap.

Harry had obtained permission from his uncle to invite the Granger family to join them for the last weekend before term begins for this year – Harry suspected that his aunt put his uncle up to it – and Harry intended to ask Richard Granger about it later.

Harry mentally shook his head as he forced himself to return to the present. By the time that he had managed the feat, he found himself already in front of the tough looking wooden door that was the main entrance to the house. A single white button on the upper right-hand corner of the frame housing the door took the attention of Harry and he pressed it, fully aware that that was the bell.

In this conjecture, he was not wrong, and he heard the sound of the bell within the house the moment that his finger left the button. A full three minutes passed – but Harry did not press the button again, that would have been rude – before the door opened and Harry was rewarded with the sight of a man that could only be Hermione's father.

There was a big smile on the face of Richard Granger as he pulled the door open, but for a few moments, he and Harry only stared at each other. The thirty eight year old dentist had to admit that he liked what he saw in Harry. He seemed solid and – if the gifts that he had on his hand, yes, Richard knew that they were meant for them – polite. The smile on the face of Richard broadened at that as he actually found himself wondering if this man in front of him would someday be calling him 'dad'.

A mental frown did cross the features of Richard at that. He had interrogated – although that would not be the term that he would use if he was asked – his daughter the night before regarding this man before she and her mother went out to the park to have a little talk. Richard knew that Harry was raised by an aunt and uncle because his parents were killed in the last magical war.

Richard mentally shook her head, however, when he realized that he had spent close to ten seconds just staring at Harry. He did not imagine that that would be seen by the lad in front of him as courteous.

For his part, however, Harry had also stared at Richard. He only needed one glance to know that this man was as tall as his uncle, perhaps taller by half an inch or so. The easy smile on the face of the man and the laugh lines on his forehead also made Harry aware that Richard was most often found to be smiling. His chocolate-brown eyes was evidently one of the physical traits that he had passed on to Hermione, but because Harry had not yet met her mother, he cannot be sure if it the beautiful brown orbs of Hermione came only from her father or if it came from both of her parents.

"Well, lad, you must be Harry Potter," Richard said as he extended his hand toward Harry. The voice of Richard broke Harry out of his reverie and he forced himself back to the present. Without hesitation, he extended his hand toward Richard and the two shook hands, Harry taking care to be firm in his handshake. Fortunately, Richard also decided not to crush Harry's hand.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, "I'm Harry Potter, nice to meet you"

Richard nodded his approval before he stepped to the side and said, "Richard Granger, well, come in," before he motioned for Harry to follow him. Harry had no plans of disobeying that instruction and was only all too happy to follow Richard into the interior of the house.

As Harry had suspected, the interior of the house also did not display opulence, but the social status of the Granger family was there for all to see. There might not be expensive statues and paintings hanging from the walls – in fact, the walls are almost bare – but the first thing that Harry noticed inside the house was a small end table on the surface of which were framed diplomas and certifications. It was obvious that both parents of Hermione were well-educated and are capable of providing Hermione with everything that she needs.

Richard led Harry to a waiting room just aft of the foyer. Harry took a seat on one of the sofas inside the room after Richard beckoned him to and allowed himself to look at the different pictures of Hermione and the family that hang from the walls. He had to conclude that Hermione was an only child – she had not said as much during their trip – because most of the pictures included only Richard, Hermione, and a beautiful woman whom Harry concluded was Hermione's mother.

"Thank you for coming, Harry," a voice came from one side of the room. Harry turned his attention toward that direction and saw Richard re-entering the room, on his hands, he carried a tray on the surface of which rested two glasses and a pitcher of juice which the patriarch of the Granger family placed on the surface of a table beside Harry, "In a few moments, I am sure Hermione and her mother would be ready, so we would be leaving for the restaurant," he paused before he added, "Hermione tells me that you came from the United States."

As with Uncle Alex, Harry was forced to conclude that Richard had the uncanny ability to make statements that, while phased as question, is actually a statement.

Of course, Harry nodded, "Yes, sir," he replied even as he watched Richard pour juice into the two glasses and placed one of them in front of Harry. The unspoken command was clear, and Harry chose not to comment on it, instead, he added a bit more information that Richard may or may not be aware of, "I studied at Columbia Academy of Magic since I was six years old and graduated earlier this year before I was asked by our Secretary of Magic to go to Britain at the request of the British Magical Government,"

Richard sipped at his own glass and Harry was forced to follow suit. Before Harry could say anything else, however, Richard returned to the conversation, "Then you would be in for a treat today," he said with a smile. He gestured with his hand before he added, "This is the first time that we are taking one of her friends out for lunch, and I must say that it is quite a pleasant exercise." He opened his mouth and it was clear that he was about to say something else, but at that moment, the bell rang again, forestalling whatever it was that Richard Granger was about to say.

Instead, a smile came across the face of the Granger family patriarch as he regarded Harry. Quite frankly, the smile on the face of Richard Granger unnerved Harry and for the first time in so many years – Harry knew that he did not act like this when he was introduced to the parents of his last girlfriend – Harry actually found himself wishing that he could melt away. There was something friendly and menacing in the smile of the patriarch of the Granger family, of that, Harry was sure.

"Well, the restaurant is a treat as well, but I suppose this one should count as your first treat for the day," Richard said with a smile that seemed mischievous at the same time that it sounded worried.

Without saying anything, Richard pushed himself to his feet and made his way to the foyer. Harry stood as well – with the host standing, it is discourteous for the guest to remain seated – but Richard motioned for him to stay seated. Against that, Harry had no choice and he could only watch as Richard disappeared once more, though this time, toward the direction of the foyer.

Harry could hear the patriarch of the Granger family open the door and the greetings that were given to him, though he cannot make out the specifics. Suddenly, there was a girlish squeal that came from the foyer and Harry jumped to his feet. His hand was already halfway to his wrist holster – where he kept his wand – but realized that he knew the squeal.

Unbidden, a smile came across his face. This was the first time that he had heard the squeal, but he knew instinctively that it was Hermione who made that squeal. Harry guessed that her father had informed her that he had already arrived.

The sound of footsteps approaching tore Harry out of his reverie and he had to consider if he should remain standing or if he should resume his seat. After a few moments, however, he decided to just remain standing, after all, he knew that he was about to meet the mother of Hermione and he wanted to make a good impression. It would not be a good impression, Harry knew, if he were to remain seated when she arrives.

At that moment, a woman entered the sitting room and Harry stared at her. Harry had no problem in identifying her as the mother of Hermione, after all, he had already seen her in the pictures, all of which hang inside this room, but there was still a difference in seeing a person in a picture – static and not moving, unable to give off any impressions – and in real life.

The easy smile on the face of Hermione's mother told Harry that she, much like her husband, could probably be most often found with a smile on her face. It was obvious that everything else about Hermione came from her mother; the only features that Hermione did not inherit from her mother would be Hermione's eyes and her hair, both of which apparently came from her father.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione's mother said, and even her voice seemed to have been inherited by Hermione, albeit the voice of Hermione was a tad softer than that of her mother, though that was to be expected, "I'm Rose Granger," and so saying, she extended her right hand toward Harry.

Harry was again only all too happy to accept the offered hand, "I'm Harry Potter ma'am," he replied.

Rose smiled at Harry before she said, "I can certainly see why my daughter is so enthralled with you," but before Harry can say anything in reply to that, Rose quickly added, "She and Richard are just having a little talk."

"Yes ma'am," Harry replied, though he had to quickly take his seat when Rose motioned for him to do so. She also took a seat and grabbed the glass that was her husband's, "Were you waiting long?" Rose asked before she sipped at the glass of her husband.

"No ma'am." Harry replied, "I haven't been here five minutes before you arrived ma'am,"

Rose smiled, "Call me Rose, Harry," she instructed him, but before Harry can complain about that, she frowned as she realized something. The smile that came across her face right after that frown, however, gave Harry the impression that whatever it was that she was thinking about, she found it amusing, "I imagine that that would be hard though, because from the way that my daughter is acting, "I guess that I would not be surprised if the day would come when you would have to call me mother,"

Harry actually blushed at that, but before he could say anything, Rose started to laugh, preventing him from saying anything. At that moment, Hermione – apparently having already finished speaking with her father – walked into the room. Harry turned his attention toward her direction and had to blink – twice – when he saw her.

The smile on the face of Hermione was as beatific as any that Harry had ever seen in his nearly fifteen years of life. It was the only thing that Harry needed to see in order to know that Hermione was very happy to see him, but it was not the only thing that Harry quickly noted. There were many other things, but Harry – for probably the first time in his life – just stared at her, completely unable to say anything.

He was aware that there are many adjectives going through his mind the moment that he continued to stare at this beautiful young woman in front of him, but – as with his report to the Secretary of Magic in the United States that he tried to write yesterday – he cannot seem to find the right words to use in opening the statement. In the end, Harry knew that there was only one adjective that he could use, and though that particular adjective was the one that he had decided to use, the limitations that the said words connote, in the mind of Harry, does not exist when he decided to use that word. Harry, rendered mute by the appearance of Hermione, could only use the word beautiful to describe her, and this was despite the fact that even Harry himself was painfully aware that that limiting word does not do justice to Hermione.

Harry was so focused on Hermione that he completely missed the fact that the moment that he turned to look at her, Richard walked into the room. A smile came across the face of the head of the Granger family as he glanced at his wife, and Rose returned the smile. It was obvious that the two of them found the exchange – or rather, the lack of exchange – between Harry and Hermione amusing, and it was clear that the two were of one mind as they wondered if the boy that was now in front of them would truly, someday be their son-in-law.

**12 Grimmaul Place**

**London, United Kingdom**

**August 15 1995 ACE**

Master Auror (Ret.) Alastor Moody had to admit that he hated having to be the one to deliver the news that he was about to deliver, but his dislike for this mission does not stem from the message that he had to deliver, after all, the message was just that, a message. No the reason that he disliked this mission was because he disliked the person that he was supposed to give the message to.

A snort escaped from the one-eyed – technically, he is one-eyed since his other eye was a magical one – one-legged – yeah, he has a peg-leg – man as he knocked on the door in front him. He only knocked once before he turned to regard the house in front of him. It was strange that a house that seems to have such a dark aura was the headquarters of an organization that was supposed to stand for the light, indeed, an organization that was fighting the dark.

When it comes right down to it, however, this creepy old place was the only logical place where the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be located. Aside from the fact that it is located in Central London – and therefore, near the center of power – it was also, quite easily, the most formidably defended residence of any of the members of the Order.

Hogwarts Castle, of course, is more defended, as is Gringotts Bank, but the former is technically not a residence and is, in fact, managed by the Hogwarts Board of Governors, a body that the leader of the Order – and indeed, many other members of the Order – had long suspected to have been infiltrated by their enemies. It would be utter stupidity to set up shop in a location that the enemy has access to. The latter, on the other hand, is technically sovereign territory, and there was no way that the goblins would allow the Order to set up shop in their banks, even if the goblins would somehow make the conclusion that Voldemort is as dangerous to them as to anyone else.

The door opening tore the Master Auror out of his reverie. He exchanged a greeting with the person who opened the door – a relatively low ranking Order member named Sturgis Podmore – before he loudly clanked his way to the dining room where he was told the person that he was supposed to meet was waiting for him.

Moody had to bite back the bile that threatened to leave his body as he walked along the relatively narrow hallways of the house. Everything about the house screamed 'Dark' at him, but he guessed that that was because the Black family is as dark as their name implied, perhaps more. In any case, however, even if he complained all the way to the moon with the leader of the Order, there was little he could do to convince the man to change headquarters.

The simple fact is, this dark house, precisely because it is dark, contained more defensive spells and enchantments than even the Ministry building in downtown London.

Moody mentally shook his head as he forced himself to return to the present. He had not interrupted his retirement in order to complain about places, he had interrupted it so that he could fight against those that he had been fighting against for more than half his life, and this time, he hoped that he could finally finish the job. If he could not shoot a green killing curse down the spine of the swine, he would at least see to it that they get chucked down Azkaban for the rest of their life.

"Hey Mad-Eye," a voice from behind him caused Moody to turn toward that direction, his wand already out. He did not even relax when he saw that it was only Sirius Black who had greeted him.

It was, perhaps, ironic that the two of them are here in a relatively peaceful setting. Alastor Moody was regarded by many as one of the most overzealous Aurors, but here he was, staring at a man who, according to the Ministry, is the most wanted wizard in the whole of Britain.

Moody, of course, was aware of the story, and in any case, all those years in the Ministry did not turn him into a brainless puppet of those in power. He knew that there was no way that Sirius Black could be dark. After all, the man turned his back at his own family in order to escape that fate.

In any case, Albus Dumbledore himself had vouched for Sirius Black and though sometimes it was hard to believe the Headmaster when he vouch for someone – the name Severus Snape popped into the mind of Moody as he thought about that – Moody trusted the Headmaster well enough to accept the voucher at its face. He was also reminded of the fact that Black saved him during a duel once, and the now one-eyed, one-legged legend within the auror corps of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was yet to pay Black back for that save.

"Where's Potter?" Moody asked without preamble. Even though he already knew the answer to that, he still asked, just in case the boy had actually changed his location. He knew that the boy was prone to doing that.

"Dining room," Sirius replied, he frowned before he added, "For once, he actually managed to keep himself in one place and wait for further instructions, though I bet that it has something to do with the fact that he and Ron Weasley are talking about the Granger girl again."

Moody bit back a snort. He might not have been married, but he had been young once, and he had fancied one or two of his old classmates. One thing is for sure though, while he might know much about the intricacies of courtship, he knew that there was no way that either of those boys could get Hermione Granger to go out with them. For one thing, girls do not like boys who had made fun of them, at least, not the way that the two had made fun of Hermione Granger.

There was even a rumor that if not for the fact that two of her classmates had managed to catch up with Hermione, she might have been killed that evening as the comfort room where she was supposed to have shut herself in was visited by a troll that same evening.

Moody nodded to Sirius before he turned his attention away from the man and resumed his trek toward the named location. It was a sign of trust, coming from Moody. Sirius knew as much, for there was no way that the paranoid ex-auror would turn his back against anyone unless he trusted that someone to not curse him at the back.

A few moments later found Moody inside the dining room. It was a large room, easily able to accommodate sixty or so people at one sitting. It was also the second largest room in the house – the largest being the library, though that was not obvious given the arrangement of the furniture in that room – so the dining also served as the meeting place of the Order whenever they have meetings.

As Sirius had intimated, Michael Potter was inside the room, and he was accompanied by his foster brother, Ronald Weasley. A third person was inside the room – Ginevra Weasley – but she was seated far away from the two and was wearing an expression of disgust and irritation – it was hard to tell what it was – on her face. Given that the two boys were talking about Hermione Granger though, it was probably both.

"Potter, Weasley," Moody said as soon as he entered the room. The two boys – and the one girl, of course – turned their attention toward Moody. The retired auror ignored the smirk that came across the face of the two boys as he clanked his way to an empty seat, he knew that confronting the two bastards on that would be so juvenile and he was not supposed to fall for that.

"Dumbledore sent me," Moody said, deliberately being rude. He knew that the two boys would be rude to him – and they had been in the past – so he was just returning the favor in advance, "Sent me to tell you, boy," – and this was directed toward Michael – "that there would be another Potter in Hogwarts this year."

This time, it was the turn of Moody to smirk as he caught the surprised look on the face of Michael Potter. Moody knew what the boy was thinking, and he was not surprised when he could already predict what the boy would say next, "Impossible," Michael said, and Moody smirked as he told himself that that was exactly what he thought the boy was going to say, "I am the last Potter left,"

"Last or not, there would be another Potter going to Hogwarts this year," Moody said, and he said that in a way that indicated that he truly did not care if Michael would believe it or not, "His name is Harry Potter and he would be in your year."

Michael looked ready to say something, but before he could do so, Ron injected himself into the conversation. The youngest Weasley boy turned his attention toward his foster brother – the boy that he had been raised with for as long as he could remember – and said, "You never told me that you had a brother," and his tone was accusatory.

Michael turned his attention toward Ron, and in an irritated voice, he said, "I don't have a brother, I am the last Potter left," with a dismissive nod toward Ronald.

Ron took offense at the tone of Michael and he looked ready to reply – Moody knew that the boy was prone to fits of jealousy, though for what reason, Moody was not sure – but before Ron could say anything, Moody interrupted, "He's coming from the United States and would be the personal representative of the Secretary of Magic in the United States," he said, he added that because he knew that if he did not, then it was possible that this two would actually go out of their way to look for trouble with the lad. Moody had not met Harry Potter, but if he was the personal representative of the American Secretary of Magic, then logic dictates that he must be powerful enough to have earned that position.

He did not say anything after that for a few moments and wondered if the two in front of him could discern the importance of that particular fact, but after a full thirty seconds when they did not show any reaction, Moody decided to give the answer to them, he was getting tired of staring at their faces anyway.

"It means that you cannot touch him, not if you want to avoid an international incident that might see Arthur removed from the Ministry," Moody said. The two boys looked at Moody with horror, but Michael recovered easily enough and was about to proclaim that there was no way that that would happen – '_no doubt the bastard would claim that he is the boy-who-lived and he would use his influence, never mind the fact that he had already lost all of his influence in the Ministry,'_ Moody thought to himself.

Ron looked ready to argue – as did Ginny, Moody noted, his magical eye had turned to look at the little girl, he does not trust any of the three persons inside this room – but before he could say anything, Michael stopped him. The young Potter turned his attention toward Moody and asked, "What is his name again?"

Moody smiled, "Harry James Potter, age fifteen," he replied. He suspected what was happening, but until it had happened, he was going to hold his peace and not say anything.

Michael nodded, "I cannot say I have heard of him before," he replied, his tone a bit more subdued, and Moody knew that this was a phenomena that was not uncommon with this boy, though this was the first time that the retired master auror was witnessing it for himself.

It was as if there are two personalities inside this boy and one was always in control at any given time. Moody had to admit that it unnerved him – after all, if the boy suddenly changed personalities in the middle of a battle, who was to say that the boy would not start cursing anyone within range of his wand – but he was saved from having to worry about that when Michael suddenly said, "Thank you for warning me about him,"

Moody could only stare as this was the first time that Michael had thanked him for anything, but against that, he could do nothing but nod, "Aye, Potter," he said a few moments later, he gave him a nod – Ron and Ginny did not get one – before he turned around and said, "I'll see you around boy."

Moody walked out of the dining room, but paused the moment that he cleared the threshold between the hallway and the room when he saw Sirius Black. A frown marred the features of Moody as he asked Black, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long enough," Sirius admitted a few moments later. He gave Moody one nod before he asked, "I heard the name Harry Potter mentioned."

Moody nodded, "Aye," he replied, and with a questioning look, he asked, "You know him?"

Sirius did not reply right away, but after a few moments, a sigh went out of his mouth as he gave Moody a nod. His reply, however, did not coincide with that nod, "If he is the same boy, then yes, I do know him," he said, and even Moody could see the worried look on the face of Sirius when he said that.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

**A/N2: **Dates have been changed and updated.

* * *

**SIX**

**12 Grimmaul Place**

**London, United Kingdom**

**August 15 1995 ACE**

The loud sound of glass shattering upon impact echoed around the large – but relatively empty house – quietly. There are those who did not hear the noise despite the fact that they are probably within rooms that are closer to the source of the sound than Remus Lupin, but of all the people who are currently inside this house, no one had a sharper sense of hearing than the former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor of Hogwarts. In fact, Remus knew that no one would even come close to his ability to hear.

A soft sigh escaped from the lips of Remus even as it was quickly replaced by a smile. He knew that it was not something that he should be proud of and as he pushed himself off of his chair – mentally marking the page number of the book that he was reading on his mind – he once more remarked to himself about the irony of history, as well as how efficient and painfully patient she is in extracting revenge.

Remus was descended from a pureblood family, one that could trace their lineage to just before the founding of the Wizengamot. Although denied a seat in that Congress on the account of their relatively short lineage and over questions of pedigree, there can be no doubt that the Lupin family exercised more power in that Congress than any individual member could ever dream of.

There were times when the Wizengamot had been virtually nothing more but a puppet of the Lupin family. In 1728, the first massive epidemic of Lycantrophy reached the shores of Britain and the Wizengamot was forced to consider how they could effectively contain the rapidly spreading disease. It was the Lupin family who suggested the same rules and regulations that Remus had been forced to undergo when he was first bitten.

A snort escaped from the mouth of the relatively young man – although whether that snort was a positive or negative one, not even Remus can answer. He turned the knob on his door slightly the moment that he reached it and stepped out of his room, his eyes closed.

He allowed the assault of sounds to echo around his ear, even as the mixture of smell bathed his nose. There are over a dozen people in this house and Remus knew all of their scents. Those scents might have been mixed because of the close proximity of everyone, but the nose of a werewolf was sharp enough to be able to discern even the most horribly mixed scents of a human. Those human scents, however, are not what interested Remus, no, what interested the old werewolf was the telltale scent of alcohol. A small smile crossed the features of Remus as he instantly recognized this tell-tale scent as that of the firewhiskey that Sirius prefer.

At that moment, however, a frown marred the features of Remus. He knew that his friend rarely drinks, a one hundred eighty degree turn from the Sirius of old whose everyday habit was to get drunk. Being stuck inside the no-star resort of Azkaban in the middle of the North Sea tends to have that effect, and Sirius had admitted that being drunk reminds him of his time in Azkaban prison.

A few moments later found Remus inside the kitchen of the old Black family home. As the bastion of a pureblood family, this particular house was constructed with the ideals of the separation of different classes of people foremost in the mind. This kitchen is but an example of that idea, with its own dining table that could probably sit five or six people. A smaller house would have been content with just this place as their dining room – leave some space open for other rooms – but in Grimmauld, it is but the servant's dining area. There is no way that the servants can eat in the dining area reserved for the owners of the house, their family, and their guest.

Another frown crossed the features of Remus as he considered that. The servants serve in the family dining room, but they could never have their dinner there. They had to contend themselves in eating in this – admittedly comfortable and sufficient – kitchen when it is their turn to have their meals.

As Remus had expected, Sirius was seated at one of the chairs of the table. A half-empty bottle of firewhiskey and a glass full of the stuff was resting on the surface of the table in front of him, while on the floor, the shattered remnants of the bottle – the sound that it had made when it shattered was what had alerted Remus that something had happened – that Sirius must have already emptied earlier littered the surface around Sirius.

A sigh escaped from the lips of Remus as he walked into the room. Even a person who does not know Sirius could tell that the man is troubled, and while one can argue that Sirius had been troubled since his escape from Azkaban, there was something different about the troubles that Remus is sure his old friend is feeling.

"You look like hell," Remus commented a few moments later. Sirius turned his head straight toward Remus so that Sirius may look at him and from the look on the eyes of the man, it was clear that Sirius had no idea that Remus was inside the room with him.

The only man to ever escape from the dreaded Azkaban prison watched in silence as his old friend and fellow prankster took the seat in front of him without saying anything. Sirius knew that he was drunk, but the fact that he knew that he was drunk meant that he was not drunk enough, and a smile crossed his features as Remus reached for the bottle of firewhiskey that he had kept close to him.

For a few moments, Sirius thought that Remus would forego the glass and drink straight from the bottle. It might be unhygienic for those who are with him – seeing that they might have to get more from the bottle – but Sirius was sure that it would have been quite a show.

A rough laugh escaped from the jaws of Sirius as he regarded his friend. He raised his glass – full of alcohol – toward Remus in a rough manner – and as a result of the roughness the liquid held by the glass sloshed and poured into the surface of the table – before he said, "I've escaped hell only to look like hell myself," a sharp laugh escaped from his lips as he added, "Quite a circle it has been."

For a few moments, Remus did not reply. Instead, he stared at the dark brown liquid in front of him, the look of doubt on his face obvious as if he was debating with himself as to his next course of action. The silence affected Remus and it was not long before the boisterous escaped convict from Azkaban was forced to stare at the same thing that one of his oldest friends had been staring at.

A smile came across the face of Sirius as he considered that, perhaps, Remus had seen something in the cup that he had not seen. A few more moments later, however, Remus apparently ended the argument with himself and without even a single smile toward Sirius, emptied the contents of the glass that he was holding in one gulp.

"Hell," Sirius said. He offered to pour more for Remus, but the former professor held his hand to stop Sirius. A frown crossed the features of Sirius as his mind told him that Remus might have had enough, but whatever it was that he was about to say was held in his breath as Remus poured for himself.

"I can take care of myself," Remus said after he had refilled his glass. Sirius stared at his old friend and after a few moments he gave him a respectful nod and a smile. Sirius knew that Remus was not only referring to the action of pouring drinks when he said he could take care of himself, Sirius knew that Remus was also talking about his inner beast, though before Sirius can say anything else, Remus beat him to the punch, "What's troubling you, old friend?"

The timbre of the voice that Remus had used when asking that question told Sirius that while the question was phrased as if answering it was optional, there can be no doubt that it is a mandatory question.

Still, for a few moments, Sirius debated with himself on whether or not he should answer the question. The godfather of Michael Potter was aware that very few people in the world knew about the secret of the Potter family, and he is sure that not even Michael himself – the heir of the Potter family – knew that his parents had a secret. Sirius knew this because he had questioned Michael about it before, the day that they had first met again after he had escaped from Azkaban.

A smile crossed the features of the face of Sirius as he remembered that time. His gaze turned toward his friend and reminded himself that if not for Remus, he would have had his souls sucked by dementors that evening. Sirius had made the choice to transform to his animagus features in desperation, he thought that by transforming to a dog, the dementors would ignore him, but while he was proven correct in that assumption, the demontors just changed their target from Sirius to Michael and his friend Ronald who were uselessly casting their patronus charms at the incoming dementors.

The arrival of Remus, in werewolf form, was both a boon and a bane. The dementors fled from the werewolf – because Remus had no happy memories when he is in werewolf form, therefore, aside from his soul, nothing to consume – but Sirius had to actively stop Remus from attacking Michael and Ron, both of whom had fainted the moment that they saw the werewolf approaching them.

A sigh escaped from the lips of Sirius as he considered how apt it was that his thoughts returned to his godson, for it was his godson that was troubling him. It was troubling him well enough that he had decided to open his secret stash of drinks and get drunk for the evening. Once more, he emptied the glass in front of him, but once that was done, he turned his attention at his old friend, "You remember after I had escaped from Azkaban?" he asked.

Remus nodded, "Yes," he replied, he emptied his own glass after saying that, but unlike Sirius, Remus decided to forego pouring himself another glassful. The two glasses are the only concession that he would give his old friend tonight, if he could help it.

Remus mentally shook his head as he told himself to return to the present, and that was exactly what he had done. He noticed that Sirius had not said anything after Remus had made his reply, so he decided to continue, opening a topic regarding something that had always troubled Remus since the moment that he had been informed what the objective of Sirius was in breaking out of the prison, "I would think that you would head straight to the Weasley's, after all, it is fairly common knowledge that Michael was being raised by them," a smile crossed the features of Remus as he added, "If you had, Albus would not have been able to reinforce the wards surrounding the Burrow"

A smile crossed the features of Sirius, "That would have been obvious," he said, but from the tone of the voice of Sirius, it was obvious to someone who knew him long enough that the man was hiding something, and when Sirius realized that Remus was staring hard at him, he gave a loud guffaw before he added, "Meeting Michael was one of my objectives before I make the trek to hunt down the traitor, but there was something else that I wanted to do"

Now Remus had to admit that he was intrigued. He wanted to know what that 'something' is, but unlike Sirius – or any of the other Marauders for that matter – Remus is patient. He understood that patience had its own rewards, and despite the fact that he was nearly tearing himself in excitement, he held himself, aware that his old friend would reveal the secret without Remus actively asking for it.

A sigh escaped from the lips of Sirius and Remus noted it. Remus, however, was able to prevent himself from scowling as he realized that Sirius was deliberately wasting time, whether it was because the man intended for such a pause to be dramatic – Sirius, Remus knew, had a weakness for dramatics – or because it was something that Sirius truly found difficult to talk about, Remus does not know, and quite frankly, he does not want to know.

"We never told anyone about this, but Michael has a twin," Sirius said. For such an earth-shattering announcement, Remus would have expected drum rolls, but the silence that descended after that announcement was nothing but deafening. Abruptly, Remus blinked and with a swiftness that a champion duelist would kill for, he whipped out his wand and cast several high-powered charms designed to prevent eavesdropping around the room.

A few more moments later and Remus was forced to admit that the announcement of Sirius, in hindsight, should not have surprised him. There had been rumors to that effect, most of them inspired by the fact that Michael rarely display the kind of power that most 'experts' had reckoned was necessary for someone to defeat the Dark Lord, but Albus Dumbledore had always downplayed such rumors.

For Sirius to admit that it is the truth, however, would be like either James or Lily admitting it. Unconsciously, Remus clenched his fists as he remembered his old friends. James and Lily would not be making any announcements anymore, because it was hard for anyone already on the other side of the veil to do that.

"What happened to the other child?" Remus asked a few moments later.

Sirius turned his full attention at his friend and for a brief few moments, he wondered if Remus had heard him correctly. From the question, however, it was clear that he had, and a smile crossed the features of Sirius even as he told himself that he should have known that if anyone would not have been surprised by the announcement, it would be Remus.

"When I arrived at Godric's Hallow that evening, Hagrid was already there, but with only one child," Sirius said, "He had no idea, of course, because that was exactly how James and Lily would have wanted it, and I could not ask him, but when he told me that Dumbledore had been there before and had to run an errand, I knew exactly that the old man had taken Harry"

This time, Remus blinked, "Harry?" he asked, "Harry Potter? As in the name of the so-called student from America who is now coming to Hogwarts? The student that Mad-Eye told Michael about?"

Sirius nodded, but his answer to the question could not be said to be congruent to his actions, "Possibly," he said, he looked at Remus and said, "Moony, it is a fairly common name in America, but when I visited the only place that I knew Albus would place him – his muggle relatives – I did not find him there," he let out a snort and added before the angry snarl on the face of Remus – which Sirius knew appeared there because the old professor was of the opinion that the muggle relatives of the Potters is the last place that a baby should be placed – he added, "No one is there because, according to information that I gathered, the house burned down in 1988, all of the residents were killed."

Remus paused for a few moments, but before he could point out the obvious – that if everyone who lived in the house died in the fire, then it is possible that baby Harry died there as well – Sirius added, "There is no record – official or otherwise – that there was a fourth person living in that house, no school record, no medical record, and no eyewitness testimony that placed a fourth person in that house. There is only Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley, their son," Sirius shook his head and added emphatically, "Harry was never sent there"

"Have you asked…?" Remus began.

Sirius cut him off, he knew that his old friend would be talking about their old Headmaster and current leader of the Order of the Phoenix, but quite frankly, Sirius had lost his trust on the man, and in the recent Order meetings, he had not been afraid to show it, much to the displeasure of some of the most ardent supporters of the Headmaster, including the foster mother of his godchild, but it did not bother Sirius one bit.

A harsh laugh came out of the mouth of Sirius, "He would have been shocked to know that I am aware that I have another godson," he shook his head as he added, his voice dripping with amusement, "It would have been hard for me to be the godfather if I hadn't know that Harry exists, but Albus gives the impression that he is sure that I am unaware of the existence of Harry."

"What do we do?" Remus asked a few moments later. He glanced at the still half-empty bottle in front of them and for a few moments, he felt himself surrendering to his inner desire to have another glass, but he rallied his self-control and held himself.

Sirius smiled at the actions of his friend, but decided that he should answer his question, "At this moment, there is nothing that we could do," he replied, he shook his head and added – in order to forestall what Sirius is sure would be a protest from Remus – "there is nothing that we could do right now, but when the school year comes, I am sure you could find a reason to visit Hogwarts."

Remus still looked ready to protest, but after a few moments, he gave a nod as he realized that Sirius was right. Right now, there is nothing that they could do. They would have to wait, but even the patience that Remus had developed over years of planning pranks, Remus is sure, would be tested by all this waiting.

**Temporary Residence of Harry Potter**

**London, England, United Kingdom**

**August 15, 1995 ACE**

Harry stifled the yawn that threatened to come out of his mouth as he pushed himself off of his bead and back onto his feet. The sound that his computer was making as it announced a personal call was as loud as it was insistent, but Harry knew that that was how it was programmed.

With a smile, the young man reminded himself that the system was programmed to wake him up even if he is asleep, and he knew from experience – painful and disappointing experience – that only by drinking Draught of the Living Dead would he be able to ignore the sound.

There was, however, a reason why Harry had programmed that sound. In any case, there was only one person in the world that would make a call for him using this particular method, and Harry knew that he is not one that he should keep waiting.

"Uncle," Harry greeted even as he answered the call. He was not disappointed to see his uncle on the other side of the video call despite the fact that his uncle was several time zones away – it was pretty obvious, after all, outside the house where Harry was staying, the moon hanged high, but where his uncle was, the sun was still up, indeed, it was shining brightly.

"Harry," Alex said. As usual, there was no smile on the face of his uncle, but before Harry can say anything – not that he would comment on the lack of a smile on the face of his uncle, he knew better – his uncle moved to the side and the visage of his aunt replaced his face.

For a brief few moments, Harry was forced to wonder how his aunt and uncle ended up together despite the fact that they seem to be polar opposites. He, however, chased down the thought almost as soon as it had appeared in his mind. He knew the exact reason, the exact, how, why, and when his foster parents got together.

"Hello Harry," Emma said as he regarded her foster son. The smile on his face was one that suggested fondness more than anything. It was also the smile that Harry is most used to, having seen it on the face of his aunt for as long as he could remember, but somehow, Harry never got tired of it.

"Auntie," Harry said. There was also a smile on his face, one of happiness even if it spoke of his loneliness at the same time. He silently remarked to himself that despite his claims to his uncle that he was already grown up, he could still feel like a child, especially when his aunt is in the equation.

"Your uncle tells me that you had a date of some sort this morning," Emma said, but before Harry can answer – even though he was not sure if it was a statement or a question, for unlike his uncle, Harry always confuse things when it comes to his aunt – Emma asked, "How was it?"

That it was a question, there was no doubt, but for an answer, Harry was not sure. In the first place, he was not even sure if what he had gone through this afternoon could be called a date in the strictest interpretation of that term. After all, while Hermione was there, he spent most of the time speaking with her father.

He had entertained her with anecdotes of his exploits in Columbia – without the ones that would embarrass him, of course – but Hermione had limited her interactions with him. Silently, Harry told himself that it might have something to do with the fact that her parents are with them.

"I'm not sure," Harry was forced to say a few moments later. When he saw the frown that threatened to form on the face of his aunt, he quickly added – even as he prayed that it would be enough – "It was different."

"In what way?" Emma asked. She seemed singularly determined to ask Harry everything, but before Harry could answer, his aunt let out a playful yelp that forced Harry to focus his attention at his aunt. He turned his attention toward the screen just in time to watch as his uncle physically forced his aunt out of the screen. This he did by physically carrying her away from the camera of the computer.

Laughter – the musical laughter that Harry associated with his aunt was more boisterous than that of his uncle – echoed around the room where his aunt and uncle where and some of it was picked up by the hyper-sensitive microphones of and carried over to where Harry was now. A few moments later, the face of his uncle appeared on the screen and Alex asked, "Did you ask them?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, uncle," he replied. From the look on the face of his uncle, Harry got the indication that his uncle gave him permission to continue, "I spoke with her father and mother and they said that they would be delighted to join us"

"That's wonderful," Emma suddenly said, and even if many kilometers separate Harry from his foster parents, he saw his aunt push his uncle – violently – to one side so that she could monopolize the camera. A brief 'ouch' came from his uncle, but aside from that, he did not say anything else, "You uncle would send you the details once we had planned them," she turned her attention away from Harry and toward her husband.

Harry could see the smirk on her face as she looked at Alex, but she did not say anything to him because at that moment, she turned her attention toward Harry and said, "Till then, be good and remember your mission," and before Harry can say anything, his aunt terminated the call.

She, however, was not fast enough to prevent Harry from hearing his uncle exclaiming, "I need to talk to him," but unfortunately, by that time, the call had already been terminated.

A sigh escaped from Harry as he closed the computer the program with his mouse. He turned his gaze toward his bed and wondered if he should wait for his uncle to call again or if he should just go ahead and return to sleep. A yawn that came from his mouth a few moments made the decision for him.

**Aboard the **_**Emma Charlotte**_

**Approaching Bermuda**

**August 15, 1995 ACE**

"I can't think properly," Emma complained, and even anyone who does not know her can tell that her complaint was not serious. Aside from the fact that she was currently lying down on the chest of her husband while she absently traced runic letters on his chest and his hand caressed her hair, her tone gave her away. With a smile, she added, "when you're around, but especially after you've ravaged me."

Alex laughed; he gently pushed his wife away from his chest. He ignored the protests – these protests, Alex knew, was real – as he did so, but before Emma can voice her complaints, Alex silenced her by planting a kiss on her lips. It was intended to be a quick kiss, but Emma would not have that as she forced Alex to open his lips with her tongue. Unwilling to surrender even the most brief illusion of control, Alex only opened his mouth in order to allow his tongue to march into Emma's mouth, and she gave in easily enough.

A few moments later, after their kiss had ended, Alex gave a sigh before he said, "I don't hear you complaining about me ravaging you while I am ravaging you, Dearest."

Emma pouted, and Alex reacted by smiling, but before he can say anything, Emma said, "As I said, I can't think properly while you are having your wicked way with me," she watched in silence as Alex stood from the bed, and said as soon as he was standing, "You have always had that effect on me"

Alex did not turn to regard his wife, but even if he did not do so, Emma can tell that he was smiling when he said, "It cuts both ways, Little Kitten"

Emma demurely batted her eyelashes when she saw that her husband had turned his attention at her, "Of course, Sir," he added, even as she yelped in protest as Alex tossed her panties – which he picked up from where it had landed after he had pulled it from her after their talk with their nephew – toward her.

"Get dressed, Wench," Alex said. It was phrased as a command, but even someone who does not know the two of them can tell that while the term that Alex used could best be described as insulting, the love was there for all to see

"Your wench," Emma retorted with a smile. She stared at Alex and the look on her eyes –combined with that smile – practically dared him to say otherwise.

Alex, however, had no intention of doing that, "My wench," he agreed. A few moments later, however, his voice turned serious as he voiced the thing that had been troubling him since the moment that Harry had told them about Hermione, "I fear that he is moving too fast," he said.

The times when it is her who has to comfort her husband instead of the other way around are few and far between, Emma knew, but while she does not live for times like these, sometimes, she looks forward to it. That her husband was unsure about the road that the boy that they had taken under their wing is something that Emma had expected since the time that Alex had told Emma about Hermione.

The smile on her face disappeared, but it did not turn into a frown. Alex sensed the change of expression on her face and turned his attention toward her – all the time, he had to remind himself to focus on her face and not on her bare breasts – just in time to watch her as she said, "He has a good head on his shoulders, we made sure of that,"

"You remember that saying about men having two brains and only enough blood-supply for one?" Alex asked.

Emma laughed, "If that were true, then I guess you can't be called a man now, can you, Sir?" she asked with amusement, but before Alex can answer, Emma added, "The things that you can think of when we're in bed – or even out of it, come to think of it – surely proves that you have enough blood for both heads at the same time"

Alex frowned but refrained from saying anything. It gave Emma the chance to continue, "Harry is smart enough to remember that he is not in the British Isles to pursue a girl, he is in that island to pursue something that is important, though if Hermione is the one, then I would say that pursuing Hermione is just as important, if not more so, than the mission that he was given."

Alex looked ready to contest that, but after a few moments, he inclined his head toward his wife as he conceded that what she had just said is probably true. No words were passed between them, but Alex needed only to look at the expression on the face of his wife in order to know what she was thinking.

It was, of course, not passive legilimancy or any of the mind-reading stuff – in any case, Alex knew that even he cannot break through the _real_ shields of his wife – rather, it was the effect of being in love with the same woman for almost his entire life – after all, Alex was sure that he would marry Emma the first time he met her, when they were both eight years old.

"Agreed," Alex said a few moments later. Emma, Alex knew, was thinking about what Alex had done when it was him who was in the shoes of Harry. _'Indeed, sometimes it is that woman that had been with you from the very start who is the answer to all your questions,'_ Alex silently told himself, but even as a smile came across the face of Alex as he offered his hand to his wife, he reminded himself that unlike Emma, Hermione had not stood beside Harry for as long as Harry could remember. Indeed, their chance meeting in Diagon was the first time that they had met.

"Does it really matter?" Emma asked as she accepted the help of her husband. She used his outstretched hand as a fulcrum in order to get up to her feet, "How long they've know each other, does it really matter?"

As always, she knew what was on the mind of her husband even if he had not said anything, "No," Alex conceded a few moments later. He shook his head before he added, "And you're right, it may be Hermione, but until we are sure, we're not going to do anything about it"

"If we had, then this whole exercise would have been pointless," Emma said, "I agree with you, as always, Sir."

**A/N: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

* * *

**SEVEN**

**Malfoy Manor, South Yorkshire**

**England, United Kingdom**

**August 15, 1995 ACE**

A deathly silence deafeningly echoed in the ears of the members of the Inner Circle of the Dark Lord even as they tried their best to keep their attention focused on their leader. Each and every single member of the Inner Circle that was seated in the long dining table that is the centerpiece of the dining room of Malfoy Manor was present when the Dark Lord was reborn.

Granted, they did not actually see the process that was used to bring the wraith – and they knew that he was a wraith, the Dark Lord himself had informed them of that – back to a human being, but they had been there when the Dark Lord dueled with his nemesis, Michael Potter, and had it not been for the luck of the Boy-who-Lived, the Dark Lord would have won, or at least, that was how the Death Eaters saw it.

All of them are also aware that if not for the fact that the boy had escaped, there would have been little need for them to lie low. Almost to a man, the members of the Inner Circle have expressed their desire to return to their old ways of sowing havoc and causing chaos with raids against public targets in the Magical United Kingdom, but the Dark Lord had given specific instructions against such activities for the time being.

In any case, right now, there are far more pressing matters in the mind of the Dark Lord, and his closest followers have been told about that. They need to launch a raid against Azkaban as soon as possible, against the fortress-prison where their comrades are being held and at the same time, to try and convince the guards of Azkaban – the Dementors – that siding with them in the coming conflict would be in their best interest.

Seated at the immediate right of the head of the table where his lord was seated, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy fought the urge to sigh. He knew that it might be a minor offense, but in the eyes of the Dark Lord, all offenses are punishable by only one curse, the torture curse, and the patriarch of the Malfoy family had no wish to be under it again this day.

It was, he realized, quite an irony that he was a servant in his own house, forced to seat at the chair reserved for the heir of the family while the man to whom he had sworn loyalty to sat at the seat that was rightfully his.

He briefly wondered if that was exactly what the Dark Lord was trying to say to them without words, that he always comes first. If that was the case, the patriarch of the Malfoy family would not have been surprised. Already, the Dark Lord had taken over more than three-quarters of the family fortune of the Malfoy family, and the only reason that he had not taken all of them is because there are other families who contribute. Idly, Lucius Malfoy – the man who used to drop sacks of gold in the head of the Minister of Magic to make said Minister see his way – wondered how long would it take for his family to lose all of their gold – material wealth that they had held since the time of the great-great-grandfather of the current patriarch.

Once more, he had to fight a sigh as he told himself that his sacrifices had not come to naught. He might probably be seated in a place of less honor than he was used to, but he still held a post higher than his fellow Death Eaters. After all, he is the unofficial second-in-command of the Dark Lord.

As such, he is the one man who knew everything going on in the mind of the leader of their movement. Lucius knew, however, that he was in an unenviable position. The primary mission given to him by the Dark Lord was the recovery of an artifact within the Department of Mysteries, though exactly what that item is, the Dark Lord had not seen fit to share to Lucius.

At the surface, that operation was probably easy, he could just use his influence on the Minister, but he had learned that the Unspeakables suffer no one when it comes to their work and the security of their office, least of all a man that they clearly thought was an incompetent buffoon. Lucius knew that if his current plan failed, then he would have no choice but to activate his dreaded back-up plan.

There lies his dilemma. His dreaded back-up plan was a raid against Azkaban, and though it is important, the Dark Lord was clear in his instruction, everything is secondary to the recovery of the artifact in the Department of Mysteries. So far, Lucius had been able to derail the planning for the Azkaban raid, fully aware that the result of such a raid would see some of the most loyal followers of the Dark Lord free, followers that the Dark Lord would not hesitate to place in the pedestal – short as it may be – that Lucius was now seated on.

The raid, however, cannot be postponed, so the patriarch of the Malfoy family was desperate for some success that would secure his own position within their hierarchy, something that would cement his reputation as the most loyal follower of the Dark Lord. That something was the success of the acquisition of the artifact within the Department of Mysteries.

For the first time since the meeting began, a small smile crept in the face of Lucius. He had intentionally kept a secret from the others that he had manage to cast a mind-control curse against a member of the Order and had instructed the man to steal the artifact for him – he is aware that the Order had taken to guarding the Department during the down hours of the Ministry.

Lucius was confident that he would have a successful run today and his success would cement his position.

"Lucius, my slippery friend," the snake-like voice of the Dark Lord woke the head of the Malfoy family from his reverie. The voice of the Dark Lord had always been snake-like even before he was incapacitated those many Halloweens ago, but it had taken a turn for the worst when he was resurrected. That was because before, the voice of the Dark Lord had a charismatic tune to it, after he was resurrected, it was just full snake and the fact that the Dark Lord always spoke very slowly did not help matters, it actually made him more frightening to his followers.

"My Lord," Lucius replied, he slowly stood – aware that to do so quickly would mean getting cursed by the Dark Lord who always prefer to watch his followers slowly stand for some reason – he bowed as soon as he could, before he added, "I am confident that you would have the artifact by tonight,"

There was little bravado in the voice of Lucius, but that was mostly because of the fact that the Dark Lord would probably punish him worst for that bravado should his words prove a lie. Lucius might be confident of the fact that he would get the artifact today, but he preferred to hedge his bets. It was the reason that he managed to stay out of the fortress-prison in the middle of the North Sea after the end of the First War.

"Explain," the Dark Lord demanded, his voice still as slow and collected as before, but those who knew the Dark Lord could hear the unmistakable triumphant tone in his voice. It was no secret that he had wanted this artifact – whatever it was – as soon as possible, and it is possible that Lucius had just handed it to him.

"My Lord," Lucius began, "I had managed to place an _imperious_ curse against one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix and had instructed him to retrieve the artifact from the Department, he had just sent word that he is on his way for his regular duty shift and would take the artifact as soon as his partner for the evening leaves."

The Dark Lord was silent for a few moments, and when he is silent, all of his followers are also silent. The Dark Lord looked as if he was debating with himself whether or not to curse Lucius – and the blond patriarch of the Malfoy Family visibly gulped once as he waited for a response from his master – before he gave a nod and asked, "And your man is familiar with the artifact that I want?"

Lucius nodded, "I have relayed the specifics that you had given us before, Master," he replied, "It is located in Shelf ninety five…"

"Enough," the Dark Lord suddenly said, and Lucius complied almost immediately. He gulped once more, but as with the first time, it would appear that the Dark Lord failed to notice the action of his henchman. After a few moments, the Dark Lord returned his attention to the Dark Lord and promised him, "If this is successful, Lucius, you would have proven your claim that you are indeed my most faithful follower,"

Lucius bowed toward the direction of his master as a smile marred his features. He was about to resume his seat, but before he could do so, a voice – and it seemed to have echoed from all around the house – interrupted whatever it was that the Dark Lord was about to say.

"It's a shame that the plan of Lucius Malfoy would result to nothing," the voice said.

Almost instantly, there was a scream that came from the end of the table. Lucius – as did the others – drew their wands, but with no idea where the voice came from, they could not even decide where to point their wands.

A few more moments later, and it became clear that the scream of their fellow Death Eater was not the result of anything that the owner of the voice did, but rather, it was because the Dark Lord – based on his logic that only he could understand – decided that the man that he had just cursed was the owner of the voice that was heard from all around the house. In short, it was a random fit in the part of the Dark Lord.

"Wasteful," a second voice – and whereas the first one was male, this one was definitely female – commented a few moments later. The Dark Lord pointed his wand at another random Death Eater – MacNair realized that he was the one chosen this time and was actually prepared to make a run for it – but before a single curse could leave the tip of the wand of the Dark Lord, he finally realized that his followers are not the ones making the sound.

"Show yourself!" he shouted his demand toward the general direction of the interior of the house, though it was not clear if that was where the owner of the voice are as their voice echoed from all around the house.

At that moment, two shadows appeared in the room, beside a large window that was on the _other_ side of where the Dark Lord had shouted his command. Lucius was one of the first to realize their presence and he turned his attention toward the direction with the tip of his wand but a few seconds behind. He never got to point his wand properly because while it was in transit, it was suddenly cut in half by some unseen force. The other Death Eaters attempted to follow suit, but their wands were also cut in half until it was only the Dark Lord who was holding a wand, as well as a snarl on his face.

The first instinct of the Dark Lord was to fire his preferred curse – the Killing Curse, of course – against these upstarts, but then he realized that if they are inside the house, then they could be as powerful, if not more so, than him. His curiosity finally got the best of him and he lowered his wand just as the two shadow figures chuckled.

"By all accounts, the reports seem to be wrong," the male voice said. There were a few moments of pause as the Death Eaters tried to come up with something to say – not that they would say it without permission – but the owner of the voice finally showing his head effectively prevented anyone from saying anything.

The first thing that the Death Eaters noted about the man that stepped out of the shadows was his clothes. It was the brown homespun robe of a monk, though everyone was sure that this man was no monk. Rather, the choice of clothing appeared to have been made as a concession to keeping his face covered for the man refused to remove the headpiece of the robes that he was wearing.

It was hard to make a definite assessment of the man because of the cover that he was wearing, but if this proved harder for the Death Eaters, they were even more surprised when the woman stepped out of the shadows. Unlike her companion, the woman did not cover her face, but the Death Eaters quickly realized that she had no need to, because it was obvious that the face that she was using was not hers. After all, the female figure that stepped out of the shadows was no more than a mannequin, the same kind that clothing shops all over Diagon Alley use to display their wares.

"Who are you?" Lucius asked. He was the first one to overcome his surprise at the arrival of these people, thought without a wand to his name; he was not as threatening as he usually is. The patriarch of the Malfoy family seems to have failed to grasp his new situation, though.

For a response, the mannequin raised her hand. For a few moments, there was nothing, but a few seconds later, Lucius started to scream as if the devil himself was on his heels. The patriarch of the Malfoy family turned his back toward the mannequin that now stood in front of him and tried to run away, but while his legs seem to be in motion, he was not moving, not even a single inch. As he tried to run, his screaming grew louder and louder until finally, the Dark Lord has had enough and fired a stunning hex – and he did not even bother to power it down – against his own follower.

A snarl appeared on the face of the Dark Lord as Lucius Malfoy fell into the floor of his own home. His slow reaction was the result of the fact that he had to keep his mind straight and fire a stunner against his follower rather than his usual blood-boiling – or other more exotic but oftentimes fatal – curse.

He turned his attention at the interlopers and he would have been the first one to say that he would want nothing more but to turn these two – even the mannequin – into toads, but aside from the fact that his transfiguration skill was never top notch – after all, he spent most of his time in that class trying to find ways to get Dumbledore, his professor in the subject, into trouble – he had to admit that he was curious about this two. They very well cannot speak if the only sound that comes out of their mouths would be the croaks of frogs.

In any case, both of them – yes, even the mannequin – was surrounded by an aura that told the Dark Lord that they are powerful. He was not even sure if his killing curse could snuff the life out of these two, and that was even if the mannequin in front of him was technically never alive.

"Who are you?" the Dark Lord managed to ask a few moments later, but unlike his idiotic follower, he managed to ask the question with civility – albeit the barest minimum – and without raising his wand to threaten the two. He had a strong suspicion that that was the reason that Lucius got tagged.

This time, it was the man who was hiding behind the robes of the monk who answered, "Our identities is not important, Tom Riddle," he said. The use of his true name infuriated the Dark Lord and he was about to fire a torture curse – _'I'll make you scream first before you beg me to die,'_ the Dark Lord thought to himself – but he was reminded by his subconscious of what just happened to the man who was – despite his vanity – probably one of his most powerful followers and decided against it.

The Dark Lord missed the smirk that lighted the face of the man behind the robe, but since the man is hidden behind a robe, that was hardly surprising.

"Why are you here then?" the Dark Lord asked a few moments later. He purposely ignored the looks of amazement on the face of his followers and he had no need to resort to his powerful mind-reading ability to know what they are thinking.

If Bellatrix had been here, the Dark Lord knew that she would have been offended by the fact that this two had been disrespectful toward the Dark Lord, but like her brother-in-law, Bellatrix would not even last two seconds against this two, and the only reason that she would last a second longer is because he had a feeling that this two would allow Bella to fire the first curse.

The mannequin chuckled and the Dark Lord was not surprised at that moment if his followers felt a chill down their backbones. He could not blame them when he felt the same chill himself. The chuckling of that mannequin was so unearthly, so frightening that even someone like the Dark Lord who had died once before was disturbed by it.

A curt gesture from the man that was still keeping his identity a secret with the help of the robe that he was wearing silenced the mannequin. For a few moments, silence descended in the dining room of the man who was still knocked out cold on the floor of his own house. The Dark Lord turned his attention on the mannequin and fought the urge to grasp as he saw the mannequin still. It looked as if it had just been taken out from the clothing store, but then, the eyes of the mannequin opened and a shrill scream came out of its mouth.

The Dark Lord actually stepped back at that moment, half in surprise and half in fright, but he was able to keep himself from raising his wand and blast the mannequin to pieces. He had a feeling that his wand would not be able to take the power that would be required to destroy the mannequin in the first place.

"Forgive my companion for her juvenile antics," the man behind the robe said a few moments later. Despite this, he did not even seem surprised that the mannequin would do what she had just done, an indication that he had expected – possibly even planned for it – that it would happen.

"We are here because there is a man that we are hunting," the mannequin said, her voice returning to normal and a considerable chill seemed to have been lifted out of the room, the mannequin smiled before she added, "He is a powerful man, someone that we have been hunting for a long, long time"

"Why have you come to this place then?" the Dark Lord asked, visibly upset. He knew that whoever this 'man' that these two are hunting is, it was not him. Two emotions conflicted within the Dark Lord at the moment that he realize that, the first was relief that he was not the target of these two, and the other was anger that he was not the target of this two.

The Dark Lord knew that at his present situation, he would not be able to take this two down, especially if they worked together, and there was nothing in their behavior today that suggested to the Dark Lord that they would not work together.

He also knew that if he is not the target, then there is someone else out there that is more powerful than him, and that someone is coming to the British Isles, though for what purpose, these two does not seem to know, either that, or they just would not release the reason, though the Dark Lord suspected that it was more the former than the latter.

"Call it professional courtesy of sorts," the man said a few moments later. His head visibly surveyed the gathered Death Eaters before he added, "We would not want to drive over your own operations while we conducts ours so we thought that it would be best if we knew each other, to avoid such conflicts."

"It would be better for all of us to keep to our own side of the boundary," the woman said a few moments later. She smiled before she added, "By the way, Malfoy's plan to use the imperious curse to get someone to pick the sphere is useless, it could only be taken by those whose names are in the sphere"

"Wait," the Dark Lord was nearly screaming when he said that one, "How did you know that?" but already, his two uninvited guests are gone from the room. "Who are you?" the shout was directed at the direction where the two were standing but moments before, but silence was the only answer that the Dark Lord received.

The light provided by the candles flickered for a few moments, but it was so subtle that only a few who were paying attention noticed it. As for the others, they only noticed that something happened when they realized that they are all holding their wands.

That was not surprising because they did draw their wands when the two figures appeared in the room, what was surprising was the fact that they could all remember having their wands cut in half. Now, their wands appear to be intact.

The Dark Lord realized this and his eyes widened as he realized the implication. Those two – and he suspect that only one of them did it – was powerful enough that one of them could create an illusion so real that even he – with his powerful mind shields – fell for it.

He told himself that he should have realized that something was odd when he noted Lucius attempting to run without even moving and when the man started to scream as if the devil was on his heels. Quite frankly, the Dark Lord was sure that that was exactly what Lucius had seen, the illusion that one of those two had placed on the mind of the Malfoy family patriarch.

"Master," MacNair was the first one to recover from the stunning realization, "What do we do now?"

"_Crucio,_" the Dark Lord almost lazily said as he pointed his wand toward the man who had asked the question. The Ministry executioner kept his mouth shut for a few moments, but that was as far as he got as at that moment, he started screaming. It was probably better that way because the Dark Lord would not have lifted the curse had he not heard the man screaming.

"What kind of a question is that?" the Dark Lord asked at almost the same time that he lifted the curse from MacNair, "Find out who those two are and find out who it was that they are talking about"

The followers of the Dark Lord turned to look at each other and wondered if their master was serious. The look on the face of the Dark Lord laid that question to rest, however, when it became clear that not only is the Dark Lord serious about the instruction that he had just given, he looked ready to curse someone – anyone – who would ask a question.

That being said, none among the Death Eaters thought to inform their master just how impossible the request of their master was. After all, the only thing that they got to go on was a homespun robe and a mannequin, and that might even be just another illusion.

"Bring me information about the man that they are talking about as well," the Dark Lord added a few moments later. Once more, his Death Eaters looked at each other, and they did not even need to voice out their thoughts. It was impossible to find more about a man that those two were talking about, not when they are not even sure if those two were speaking the truth or were just pulling the leg of the Dark Lord to sow confusion.

"Master," one of the braver Death Eaters ventured. Almost at once, the Dark Lord had his gaze on the man, but the brave Death Eater managed to stammer out, "What should we do with them once we find them"

"_Crucio_," the Dark Lord screamed. The brave Death Eater screamed next, but unlike the treatment that MacNair had earlier received, the Dark Lord did not keep his curse on this man for long. A bare five second torture curse, however, was still something that a person could laugh about following the experience.

"Kill them," the Dark Lord said a few moments later, he turned his attention to the mass of Inner Circle members and screamed his next instruction, "Kill them!"

**Duke's Hotel, London**

**England, United Kingdom**

**August 15, 1995 ACE**

The bellboy charged with manning the door that lonely night could not believe his luck when the couple that he had not seen before – it was not surprising given that this is a hotel – gave him two hundred pounds after he had opened the door for the two of them.

As far as tips go, this was the largest that he had ever received since he started working at this place and he cannot help but be extra helpful to the couple, offering to carry their bags, but the man declined with a smile.

The bellboy thought they looked American, but the language that they were speaking was unlike any that he had ever heard before and he prided himself which led him to conclude that they must have came from somewhere else.

It was, however, not his business, so after seeing to it that his guests have been pointed to the proper desk and was speaking with the night manager about a room, the bellboy returned to his assigned task, though he cannot help but wish that he would meet another couple as generous as those two.

The couple that had entered the hotel a few minutes after the eight of the hour could hardly care about the praise that their bellboy was singing about them. In fact, neither of them even noticed the boy, to them, he was just part of the surroundings, but both of them knew that it always pays to make an impression on the staff.

After all, they are the easiest and cheapest source of information in the planet, with their information often coming for free, and this couple needed all the information that they could get their hands on if they are to succeed in the mission that they have given themselves.

"Are you alright?" the male asked his partner a few moments later after they had secured their room and their belongings. For a few moments, there was a look of concern on his face but it quickly disappeared before he added, "Using your illusion for that long surely had some negative effects on you"

She smiled back at him, "I've been practicing," she assured him, "and like they said, practice makes perfect"

Aramis Bardin – who sometimes go by the name of Vassily Plugard, Pablo Erinetti, and Santiago de Cristobal – did not speak for a few moments as he kept his gaze at his partner. There was a disturbing lack of concern on his eyes as her gaze caught his, and after a few moments, he asked, "Could you take her on?"

For a few moments, there was a look of sorrow on the face of Yvonne de Bethune, but she quickly dispelled that look – aware of how disappointed Aramis would be should he see it – and answered in a confident manner that betrayed neither boasting nor timidity, "No," she admitted, "She perfected this art, I am only a mere follower." It was hard for her to admit that, but it was far better than claiming that she could do something that she could not do and be proven wrong later.

Again, silence descended on the room. Yvonne stared at Aramis for a few moments, her face betraying her emotion that she was afraid that she had somehow offended him, but after a few moments, he smiled at her, though there was nothing friendly about that smile, "If we are to defeat him, then we must defeat her," he concluded. After a few moments, he asked, "Can we do it if we work together?"

Yvonne once more did not hesitate, "We cannot fight, the two of us, against just her," she said, and before Aramis can say anything else, she quickly added, "Just as the two of us never fight without the other, the two of them would never fight without the other."

Aramis, for a few moments, looked ready to take offense at that, but he quickly reminded himself that his partner was just stating facts, "Yes," he finally said a few moments later. He stood from where he was seated – the bed – and slowly walked toward the open balcony of the room that was provided for them.

A few moments later, he let out a sigh, "He had always loved this city," he commented, "He may have grown up in New York, but London had always had a special place in his heart,"

Yvonne kept her silence as she watched the man that she had been partners with for so long reminiscence. She had no doubt that he was seeing things that only he could see, and for a few moments, she was tempted to use her powers to, at the least, make the visions that he is seeing that much closer to reality, but the truth was, her earlier use of her gifts had drained her to the point that it the side-effect of that trick – being unable to tell fact from fiction – was starting to get into her.

She knew that she needed to rest, but she would not take refuge in the bed until Aramis was already there. There was a brief struggle as she felt herself slipping but after a few moments, her control returned and she returned her gaze to the man who now appears to be floating in midair, his eyes closed.

A small smile came across her face at that, the peace that seemed to surround Aramis whenever he imagines is a peace that always seem to elude him when his eyes are opened and for what was probably the millionth time since she had met this man, Yvonne made a promise to herself that she would do everything in her power, give up everything that she could give up – her life and her sanity if need be – in order to Aramis to achieve his goal.

At that moment, Aramis opened his eyes and Yvonne cringed when she saw the red color encased in the sockets of his eyes. She tried to stand, but it did not matter what signal her brain sent her muscles, they would not move. At that moment, however, the red in the eyes of Aramis vanished and with a soft thud, the soles of his feet returned to the carpeted floor of the room.

He went straight toward Yvonne, though he was not hurried, "We would have revenge," he said as he walked toward her. Silence followed for a few moments as he placed his arms under her and carried her from the sofa where she was seated to the bed in a traditional bridal carry.

She seemed to melt in his arms as she tried to press her body closer to this. He did not seem to notice, either that, or he did not care. As he gently placed her on the surface of the bed, he silently added, "Alex York would pay soon enough."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

* * *

**EIGHT**

**Granger Residence**

**London, United Kingdom**

**August 16, 1995 ACE**

Rose Granger smiled before she gently knocked at the door that leads to the room of her only child. Silence greeted her, but it was hardly surprising since it was barely pass six in the morning. Rose knew that her daughter might still be asleep.

She fought the urge to sigh as she gently twisted the knob of the door and – as quietly and slowly as possible – she pushed the door open. As she had expected, Hermione was still asleep, a slight smile on her lips as she lied on the surface of her bed.

For a brief few moments, Rose found herself wondering what her daughter was dreaming about, but not even ten seconds had passed before she told herself that that was a question that does not even need to be answered. Rose knew exactly what – or rather who – her daughter was dreaming about.

A slight smile formed on the lips of Rose as she made her way to the right hand side of the bed of her daughter with the intention of waking Hermione. Rose and Richard are about to leave for the morning to attend a local conference and Hermione would be the only person left in the house.

As Rose made her way to the side of the bed, she passed by the desk of Hermione. Numerous books regarding the subjects that her daughter have taken in that magical school that neither she nor Richard are allowed to visit were arranged in neat stacks on one corner of the desk, while on the other corner of the desk, there was a picture of Hermione in her everyday uniform together with a blond girl that Hermione had told them was her only close friend at Hogwarts, a younger girl by the name of Luna Lovegood.

A slight frown marred the beautiful features of Rose as she thought about that. Hermione had always been a lonely child, even when she was younger. At the age of two, she was already reading fairy tale stories to her parents while most children her age cannot even read. It was only natural that she gravitate to older children, but older children have little use for toddlers so Hermione found herself mostly alone.

When Rose and Richard gave permission for Hermione to enter Hogwarts, they did so in the assumption that Hermione would make friends when she gets there. Certainly, it was a logical assumption; after all, she would be immersed with children who are, more or less, like her.

When the first letter from the school arrived, however, Hermione gave little indication of making friends. It took only that letter before Rose and Richard concluded that even when she is surrounded by children her age, Hermione had remained mostly withdrawn and isolated.

A smile came across the face of Rose once more as she removed her gaze from the desk and toward her daughter. Rose knew that the reason that Richard had been friendly with Harry was because he was the first friend that Hermione had ever invited to meet her parents, and Rose knew that her husband had seen the young man – boy would hardly be an appropriate term when describing Harry – in a favorable light.

That was the reason why Hermione was still asleep. After their lunch yesterday, Harry had asked – and was given – permission to take Hermione out for an afternoon movie in the nearby theater house. Actually, Harry had insisted that they all go, as a thank you to the family for having him for lunch, but because of the conference, Richard and Rose begged off.

Harry and Hermione did not return until after eight in the evening, but aside from the movie and the fact that Harry once more treated Hermione to dinner at some fancy restaurant, both Richard and Rose had no idea what Harry and Hermione had done after they had left. In deference to the trust that both Richard and Rose are willing to give to their daughter and Harry, they had refrained from asking, but the mother in Rose could not wait for another five minutes – let alone another day – to question her daughter.

Rose gently shook her daughter awake. At first, Hermione protested and that allowed Rose that time to wonder what Harry and Hermione had done after she and her husband had left for home.

Reasonably curious, Rose had volunteered to be the one to wake her daughter while Richard does some pre-departure checklist.

"Hermione," Rose said gently even as she continued to shake the shoulder of her daughter, "Wake up"

Once more, protesting sounds escaped through the lips of Hermione, but Rose was adamant and within short order, Hermione opened her eyes – albeit lazily – and shook her head even as she tried to regain her bearings. After having been forcibly taken from the land of dreams back to the real world, it would take quite some time before such a process could be completed.

More protesting sounds escaped through her lips and Rose smiled as she saw the frown on the face of Hermione. That was the only thing that she needed to see in order to come to the conclusion that her earlier predictions was true. Her daughter was dreaming about Harry.

"Mum," Hermione said a few moments later. She turned her attention toward her mother and with a complaining look before she asked, "Could you not have waited five minutes before shaking me awake?"

Rose smiled at her daughter, "Apologies, sweet daughter of mine," she replied, her tone positively mirthful for one who had just – certainly – disturbed a wonderful dream, "Your father and I are about to leave and I wouldn't want to leave you alone in the house without informing you," her smile broadened as she added, "You can go back to dreaming about Harry later"

For a response, Hermione blushed, but Rose noted that her daughter did not deny the fact that she was dreaming about Harry. A moment of silence descended inside the room as the mother and the daughter stared at each other, both waiting for the other to be the first to break the silence.

Finally, Rose let out a sigh as she realized that she was the one who was at a disadvantage at that time. Hermione could just keep her mouth shut until Rose would be called by Richard, but Rose cannot keep her mouth shut because she wants to know now and she does not have time because Richard might call her.

"Tell me," Rose demanded a few moments later. Her voice was soft and her tone conciliatory, but there was no doubt that it was a demand.

"We watched a movie," Hermione replied a few moments after she and her mother engaged in a staring game. She paused for a few moments after that and focused her attention at her mother. Hermione was not surprised to see the look of impatience written in the face of her mother and for a brief few moments, she wondered if someday, Harry would complain about Hermione looking like that, the same way that her father complains every time Hermione's mother sports that look.

"After the movie, we took a walk along the park," Hermione added, and with a small mental smirk, she decided to irritate her mother by turning this into an impromptu reporting session on her part, "We had sundaes right after the movie to tide us up till dinner, double chocolate for both of us."

The look of irritation on the face of her mother widened the mental smirk that Hermione wore on her face, but since her mother did not call her out on it, Hermione continued, "During diner, we had steaks, I was expecting him to get some wine to drink, but he said that that might be a step too far for us as we are."

Rose smiled as she realized two things. The first was hardly worth commenting on since she had known that she could trust Harry with her daughter from the moment that she first saw the young man. The fact that Harry was exercising restraint – restraint that Richard would have had a hard time imitating, Rose was sure – merely confirmed that.

All things considered, the second was probably also not worth commenting on as she told herself that she should have known that her daughter would find some way to turn the tables against her. Rose shook her head, and was about to say something, but at that moment, the voice of Richard cut through the silence that had descended after Hermione had said her last words.

"Rose!" Richard said from the direction of the garage. Rose had no problem imagining her husband with his hands on his hips as he bellowed for her, but in the interest of the personal curiosity of Rose regarding the life of her daughter, her husband would have to wait.

"Mum, he's calling for you," Hermione said, and this time, she did not even bother to hide the smile on her face. At that moment, Hermione thought that she had won, and she involuntarily cringed when she saw that the smirk on her face was mirrored on the face of her mother.

"Let him wait, he made me wait long enough," Rose said, completely aware that Hermione was not aware that Rose was not only referring to the extended shower that Richard had taken that morning.

To be fair, Richard and Rose had decided – before they got married – that any children of theirs would not be told that before he entered dentist school, Richard did something for the British Government. Exactly what those things are, not even Rose can be certain, but over the years, the two of them – Richard and Rose, but specially Richard – made the decision to put that behind them.

"Rose, we're going to be late!" the voice of her husband – and it was louder this time, which told Rose and Hermione that Richard had entered the house – tore Rose out of her reverie and back to the present.

She turned her attention to her daughter and saw the smirk on the face of Hermione widen. Rose fought the urge to frown at that, she wanted to prove her daughter wrong, but unfortunately, Richard was not going to wait any longer, and besides, the man of the house was right, they are going to be late if they do not hurry.

"We'll talk again later," Rose promised her daughter. She smiled at the crestfallen look that Hermione had on her face, but before her daughter can say anything, Rose asked, "Did he ask you to be his girlfriend?"

Hermione frowned, "I thought we are going to talk later?" she asked rhetorically. After a few moments when her mother just stared at her with a knowing smile on her face, Hermione answered, "No, he did not," she fixed her mother a look that clearly said that Hermione, at that moment, thought that her mother had gone out of her mind, "Besides, it's still early, don't you think?"

"Just two days," Rose confirmed with a nod, "And the third day is just beginning…"

"He's got a meeting today with the Minister and some of the heads of the Magical Government," Hermione said a few moments later. There was a melancholic tone that even Hermione realized was there and she wondered why that tone was there. As her mother had said, it had only been two days.

Rose gave a nod of understanding. She knew very well how empty it feels to have the boy that you are crushing on be anywhere else but beside you. She was prepared to bet that she felt the exact same way when she was younger and Richard was off traipsing around the globe doing a secret mission or another.

Rose was also prepared to bet that Harry felt the exact same way that Hermione felt right now. Last night, Richard had invited Harry to stay over, but the young man begged off on the account of his meeting. Rose casually dropped that she and Richard would be out of the house – the incredulous look that Richard had given her after that was one for the books, in her opinion – but while Harry looked ready to take the chance – '_under the guise of doing homework probably_,' Rose thought – he still had to beg off because of the meeting.

"Do you think he would ask you the next time you meet?" Rose asked, she held a smile on her face that reminded Hermione of her two dorm mates because they have that exact same look whenever they are talking about their crushes.

"Mum," Hermione complained. Whatever it was that she was about to say was drowned off by Rose who motioned for her to quiet down. The sound of someone using their stairs was loud and was probably meant to be since Hermione imagined that her father was not amused that he was being ignored.

"Tell you what, Hermione, if Harry asks you, you have my permission to say yes," Rose said. She enjoyed the blush and the look of embarrassment on the face of her daughter, but before Hermione can say anything, Rose quickly added, "But you'll have to be the one to tell your father," she laughed.

Hermione was ready to argue about how unfair that was that she was the one who had to tell her father – she decided that Harry asking her to be his girlfriend was not unfair, in fact, she was looking forward to answering that question – but whatever it was that she wanted to say had to remain unsaid as at that moment, the door to her room opened and her father walked in.

"There you are," Richard said, his attention – amused and irritated at the same time – focused at his wife. He quickly noted that Hermione was already awake and was looking at them so he turned his attention toward his daughter and said, "Would you be alright alone in the house? You could go out if you want."

"As if," Hermione replied, instantly taking offense at the insinuation of her father that she cannot take care of herself. In response, her father just laughed at her, and the eyes of Hermione widened as she realized what her father was trying to do.

Hermione was sure that Harry would love to have her accompany him for his meeting with the leaders of the British Magical Government even if she would have to stay outside the office for the meeting itself. A smile came across her face as she realized that if she could salvage the situation, she might be looking at a second dinner date with Harry tonight.

With her penchant for planning, Hermione tried to salvage the situation, "On second thought…," she began.

Richard laughed louder, "No, Hermione," he quickly said, "You want to stay, so stay, and you better be here when we return tonight," he added with a smirk. He pretended to ignore the frown and the complaining look on the face of Hermione before he turned his attention to his wife and smiled at her.

**Ministry of Magic General Administration Building**

**London, United Kingdom**

**August 16, 1995 ACE**

Harry fought hard to keep the mental frown that he was already wearing on his face from being reflected in the real world. He knew that it would not do well for him to meet with the man that had requested for his presence in the country in the first place with a frown on his face.

This was despite the fact that over the last few hours of reading some reports that he had managed to get his hands on after he had requested for them, Harry had already made the conclusion that Cornelius Fudge was an incompetent bastard with a strong tint of corruption that, unfortunately, Harry cannot conclude to be true since there was little to no evidence to prove such allegation.

A case in point was the trial that the Minister had given Michael Potter – of course, Harry still refused to refer to him as his brother – which Harry found was tinged with irregularities that bordered on being illegal. The legal system of the American Ministry was patterned much after that of Britain, albeit devoid of any references to racial and blood status. Still, it was a given that minors should not be treated by the full Wizengamot, especially for a minor event as simple under-age magic.

Harry shook his head as he forced himself to return to the present. What had happened at the trial of Michael was in the pass and there was nothing that Harry could do about it – except, of course, he could report it to the American Minister – but having no desire to appear as if he is siding with a brother who did not even knew of Harry's existence, the young American representative decided to file that event on the backburner, for now.

Harry focused his attention at the back of the Auror that had met him at the lobby of the Ministry. The man practically smelled incompetence, Harry had learned that over the course of his conversation with the man, but that was not the only thing that Harry had learned, he had also learned that this Auror was actually already a captain and was leading the Aurors assigned to protect the ministry.

_'Either his superiors realized that he is incompetent and fit only for guard duty, in which case one can hope that his colleagues are better, or his superiors posted him here because of the political benefits of having him near,'_ Harry thought to himself as he followed the Auror escort to a corner.

They turned the corner and Harry blinked as he found himself looking at a spelled yellow tape surrounding a door. Two Aurors – easily identifiable not only by the greeting that they gave the escort of Harry but also by the red robes that they are wearing – stood guard, but it was clear that they were uncomfortable with this mission, a fact that was probably helped by the four other men – all of them wearing brown concealing robes – who kept guard within the line.

"Unspeakables," the Auror Captain – he had earlier introduced himself as Daniel Dawlish – said, he nodded toward the direction of the brown robes, before he added in a slightly depreciating tone aimed at the unspeakable, "They keep mostly to themselves, not even the captain of the Aurors can enter their domain," he let out one bark of bitter laughter before he added, "We used to joke that they have their own Ministry inside their office."

_'That would not surprise me the least,'_ Harry thought to himself. The description that his escort had given had painted these Unspeakables as a government-sponsored secretive organization. More often than not, such organizations are the ones plotting the downfall of their own sponsors.

"What happened?" Harry asked as he and his escort left the scene, "I imagined that it is not every day that your people and theirs have to work with each other."

Harry felt rather than saw the hesitation of his escort to speak, but after a few moments, the Auror Captain finally opened his mouth, "It's going to be in the Prophet anyway," he said, mostly to himself. A few moments passed before he continued, "There was an attempted break-in last night, but the defenses in that Department made short work of the would-be intruder," he chuckled, but quickly added when he realized that Harry might make the wrong conclusion, "He was arrested and sent to Azkaban prison before he could even open the door."

Harry gave the man a nod, though he doubted that the captain saw him, not when his attention was still turned toward the front. For a few moments, Harry had thought that the thief was summarily executed – or worse, was killed by the defenses on the room – and he would have no problem making that report to his superiors, but the captain had quickly saved the situation.

Still, Harry wondered if Captain Dawlish was aware of what he had just done. With a small mental sigh, Harry shook his head physically and concluded that the man was probably not aware of how close his latest speech had brought the government that was paying him an annual salary came to being censured.

"Well, here we are," the man said as he led Harry through another sharp corner. He had gone through several sharp corners to get to this place and Harry easily saw the reason. It was far easier to defend an objective if the attackers had no idea where the ambushes are located, and this building was planned specifically for that.

A small smile came across the face of Harry as he asked himself if the members of the British Magical Government are even aware that there was a very effective and cheap – relatively – way of clearing such ambushes, but given the prejudice that Harry had seen against the non-magical world, he doubted that the government was even aware of what a fragmentation grenade could do.

There was a single door at the end of the corridor where Harry and his Auror escort was standing. Harry knew that behind that door was a relatively simple array of rooms, hallways, and conference rooms that together make up the office of the Minister of Magic of the United Kingdom. Although the layout was officially a secret, the fact that the British Ministry of Magic was nominally an ally of the American Ministry of Magic meant that the Americans are aware of the layout.

In any case, Harry was sure that even those who are not allied with the British are aware of the layout.

"I'll see you later, after your meeting with the Minister is over," Captain Dawlish said as he gave Harry a smile. Harry gave him a nod and watched as the captain retreated from the hallway. He had no doubt that Dawlish would return to the Department of Mysteries, he seemed peeved that his Aurors were being denied access to the 'scene of the crime' when they passed through the taped-off area a while ago.

The single door at the end of the hallway automatically opened as Harry took a step toward it. A smile came across his face as he wondered if the Minister was trying to impress him with the automatic door – if that was the case, the opinion of Harry about the Minister just went down another notch – but decided to just ignore it. Every man, after all, is entitled to his own quirks and foibles and automatic doors might be the obsession of Minister Fudge.

The room that Harry found himself in was a relatively small room that was sparsely decorated with magical paintings, the occupants of all of whom stared at Harry with a look that Harry easily identified as contemptuous.

If those paintings were still human, he might have been offended, but since they are not just remnants of their past selves, Harry ignored them. More importantly, the reaction of those paintings told Harry everything that he needed to know about the Minister. It was obvious from the reaction of the paintings that they were those that would be labeled as 'racists' while they were still alive.

Harry took that into consideration and easily came to the conclusion that Minister Fudge holds derisive views towards those that he viewed as inferior. Why else would the man hang paintings of this kind in his welcoming room if he were otherwise?

A pretty secretary gave Harry a brief smile as she stood from her seat behind a non-descript desk. It was painfully obvious to Harry that the girl was expecting him, and it was painfully obvious to Harry that the girl had been instructed to put up the façade that she displayed in front of Harry for there was a lack of genuine warmth in the smile that she presented to Harry.

"Good Morning, Mr. Potter," the secretary said. Harry returned the greeting, but did not even bother to ask the name of the secretary. He realized that she might not get the reason behind his refusal to ask for her name – it may be construed as an insult by some, after all – but Harry decided that he was too busy to engage in something as juvenile as this. If the secretary could not get it, then Harry was not going to waste his time trying to make her get it.

"The Minister is waiting," the girl said a few moments later. Harry caught her staring at him with appreciative eyes, and while normally, Harry would have thrown up at that, he was here in a diplomatic capacity. It certainly would not do well for Anglo-American Magical Relations if the American Representative were to puke in the Office of the British Minister for Magic.

In any case, the lack of warmth in the smile that the girl had presented to Harry when he first entered the room had already killed any intention of Harry to get to know the girl better.

Nevertheless, Harry gave the girl an appreciative smile as she opened the door for him. Harry found himself staring at a relatively narrow and long corridor filled with parallel doors. He was about to ask the secretary where the proper office of the Minister was located, but before he could even turn his attention, the secretary said, "You'd want the door at the other end of the corridor, Mister Potter."

Harry thanked her, but could not get out of the clutches of the secretary fast enough. A few moments later, he lightly knocked on the door at the other end of the corridor and was rewarded by a female voice, "Enter," the voice said.

Harry let out one sigh before his hand twisted the knob. He was under the impression that his meeting with the Minister would be a private affair, but Harry also knew that Minister Fudge was male. The female voice that had given the permission was indicative of the fact that the Minister has someone else in the room with him, and unless the female is another secretary, it was painfully obvious to Harry that the Minister intended to have at least one advisor with him for this meeting.

The office proper of the Minister of Magic was opulent and screamed wealth at Harry, but he chose not to focus on the decorations, instead, he turned his full attention toward the Minister who rose from his chair behind a very, very, impressive wooden desk as Harry entered the room.

There was a jovial smile on the face of Minister Fudge as he moved away from his desk and shook hands with Harry. The moment that Harry touched the hand of the Minister, he instantly felt as if he was dealing with a salesman who would do anything to get a customer to buy anything.

"Welcome to Britain, Mr. Potter," the Minister said. Harry detected some hint of worry in the voice of the Minister, but Harry knew that that was because of his last name. Clearly, the Minister was now afraid of the name, but whatever fear that the Minister has, Fudge quickly buried it and motioned to a woman who was inside the room with them, "My Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Jane Umbridge."

Harry turned his attention toward the woman and fought the instant urge to gag at the sight. He also fought the urge to ask the woman if she, by any chance, was an animagus whose animal form was a toad.

After exchanging some polite greetings, Harry and the Minister found themselves seated in their respective positions, with the Minister behind his desk – his position of authority – and Harry seated in front. At the same time, Senior Undersecretary Umbridge was seated behind her own desk, about a stone's throw away from the desk of the Minister and from that location; she would be able to hear everything that the Minister and Harry would be talking about.

"I've heard that you had already toured Diagon Alley," the Minister said, there was a smile on his face as he added, "I hope that you found the experience favorable to our country"

Harry fought the urge to say anything derisive. The most memorable event of his tour of Diagon Alley was him meeting Hermione, but he was not about to say that.

"If the Representative had told us, we would have been able to assign him a tour guide instead of going out alone," Undersecretary Umbridge suddenly said. The eyes of Harry widened – just a few millimeters – in surprise at the way that the woman entered the conversation. From the look on the face of the Minister, it was obvious that he was not surprised and that led Harry to wonder if this was normal occurrence between these two.

Harry was not going to reply, however, but even if he thought to do so, whatever it was that he would have said would probably have been cut off by the Undersecretary suddenly saying, "Instead of traipising around Diagon Alley on his own or worse, with the wrong sort,"

Harry saw red at that statement. It would not take a genius to know that the Undersecretary was insulting Hermione as the wrong sort. Harry also realized that this woman was more of a racist than the Minister who still had to utter a word since his Undersecretary butted into their conversation. Harry focused his attention on the Minister and saw that the man looked uncomfortable, probably because the Minister was smart enough to realize that Harry would be reporting everything to the American Minister of Magic.

The statements uttered by his Senior Undersecretary would be enough to see her thrown inside a jail if this was the United States. Unfortunately, this was not the United States and because Harry was supposed to be here in a diplomatic capacity, he knew that he had to let it go.

"Madam Umbridge would be teaching in Hogwarts this coming fall," Minister Fudge suddenly said, and Harry turned his attention toward the Minister. A smile came across the face of Harry – one that Minister Fudge misinterpreted – as he told himself that that should prove interesting.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

* * *

**NINE**

**London Yacht Club**

**London, United Kingdom**

**August 29, 1995 ACE**

Hermione fought the urge to cover her eyes from the rays of the sun as she and Harry stepped out of the interior of the darkened black luxury car. A bellboy – immaculately uniformed and impossibly polite – held the door open for them and held it long enough to allow the parents of Hermione to dismount from the car.

She found herself staring at the building in front of her, a shocked expression on her face, though in hindsight, she told herself that she should have expected this when Harry informed her and her parents that they would be spending the last weekend before the start of term at a house – and here, Hermione shook her head as she reminded herself that the actual words that Harry used was 'estate' – in North Yorkshire and that they would not be forced to endure the cramped interior of a family van or even an RV to get to the place.

'_No, we are going to get to ride a yacht,'_ Hermione thought to herself even as she turned her attention to her back. She could not help but smile as her father offered his hand to her mother as she was about to leave the interior of the big, black, and shiny Bentley sedan. With an unmistakable giggle, Rose accepted the offered hand of her husband even as she shook her head.

The two of them just could not resist acting out, but in fairness to the bellboy, he kept the smile on his face – and it was a rather genuine smile as well – even though Hermione was sure that the boy would rather be somewhere else.

At that moment, Hermione felt the hand of Harry near hers. She turned her attention away from her parent – who had to supervise the offloading of the luggage from the boot – but she did not turn it to Harry, instead, she turned her attention to his hand. She smiled when she saw that his hand was open and though there were no spoken words, there was hardly a need for them as Hermione was already aware what Harry wanted to ask.

Truth to tell, she was expecting him to be more forceful, given how he had acted when he practically dragged her into his car the first time that they had met – and here, Hermione was thankful that the car that they Harry had brought out for today was not _that_ car, she shuddered as she thought about how her parents would react to that – but Harry taking things slow – even if in the opinion of Hermione it was too slow – was definitely the phase that Hermione wanted.

Without saying anything to Harry – '_why should I say anything?'_ she asked herself, '_he did not say anything, and I certainly do not need to ask his permission to hold his hand, not when he is offering it himself,'_ – Hermione took his hand in hers.

Hermione could tell that Harry was amused, there was a smile on his face, but he refrained from saying anything aloud even as he turned his attention away from the façade of the building – and such a magnificent building it is – in front of them toward the direction where they had came from.

Hermione followed the action of the boy – '_no, the young man,'_ she mentally corrected herself once more – and a frown came across her face as she watched her parents direct porters that seemingly came out of nowhere in unloading their baggage from the boot of the car. She also fought the urge to let out a sigh in thanks to the fact that her father had decided against bringing his so-called vacation luggage with them, though Hermione suspected the decision of her father had something to do with the revelation of Harry that his uncle also enjoyed fishing and that there would be fishing gears stowed aboard the yacht so Richard need not bring his own.

"I told them that they don't have to worry about it," Harry commented a few moments later. Although the tone that he had used was disapproving, there was a smile on his face, and Hermione realized that Harry was just having fun, albeit at the expense of her parents.

Given the fuss that her father had put up – and Hermione had realized that it was mostly for show – when her mother told him that Hermione is planning to ask Harry to be her boyfriend, Hermione thought that her father deserved the notoriety of being the only person in this club to actually have to supervise the unloading of their baggage.

Hermione was about to say something, however, what that something was never made it out of her throat as at that moment, Harry turned his attention back to the façade of the building.

Hermione mimicked the action of Harry and she turned just in time to watch as another immaculately dressed gentleman – although this one was dressed better with a suit – approach Harry with an expression of purpose set in his face. Hermione realized that Harry had turned because Harry was aware that this approaching man wished to speak with him.

"Mr. Potter?" the man asked, and although he had asked that question, Hermione caught the man – and she guessed that this man is the manager of this place – glance toward the direction of her parents. Hermione guessed that the man was of the impression that her parents are Mr. and Mrs. Potter.

"Yes sir," the man replied, not missing a beat that caused Hermione to revise her earlier assessment. It was obvious that the manager was already aware of who Harry was and with a mental sigh, Hermione told herself that that was probably because he had already been informed, "Your uncle had already made radio contact and his vessel has already requested a harbor pilot, they should be entering their berth in less than an hour or so, sir."

Hermione turned her attention to Harry and watched as he gave the man a smile and a nod, "Thank you," Harry replied cordially toward the man, "Has he sent any other messages ahead of him?"

The manager shook his head, "I'm afraid that other than asking for us to inform you of his impending arrival, Mr. York had not left any other messages, sir," he paused for a few moments before he asked, "Would you like to send a message to him sir?"

"Not necessary," Harry replied, he looked toward Hermione and smiled in response to the smile that she gave him before he returned his attention to the manager and asked, "Do we have a waiting room?"

"Of course sir," the manager replied, and Hermione thought that the man actually looked offended at the suggestion that no room would be made available, but given that this is her first time here – or in any social clubs for that matter – and given that Harry appeared to be on the top of things, she elected to keep quiet. In any case, it was not as if there is something constructive that she could do, "Philip would be more than happy to show you the way, sir"

Philip turned out to be another man – over six feet tall at that – who wore a suit, although the standard of his suit was obviously lower than the man that had greeted them whom Hermione labeled as a manager and whom she had neglected to ask the name of. Harry did not seem bothered by the fact that he does not know the name of the man and Hermione decided to follow his lead.

A few moments later found the four of them inside a relatively small – the living room of the Granger house was nearly as big as this room, but it was still small by the standards of the rest of the building – room. A large flat-screen television was mounted on one of the walls of the room and was turned on to the BBC Channel where a report regarding the debates of Parliament regarding some monetary measure was being discussed.

Hermione ignored the news – in a good day, she would listen to them, but today hardly qualifies as a good day because the young girl knew that using the label 'good day' for today would not do today justice, today was the best day – and instead allowed her gaze to wonder over the room. At one small table, there was a bucket of ice where a glass of wine was resting along with four wine glasses and Hermione cannot help but watch as Harry strode towards the table.

She watched as the young man that she is attracted to pick the bottle. There was no doubt in the mind of Hermione that Harry was reading the label, but before Hermione could even take a step toward Harry, he had already opened the bottle – she guessed that it had been opened prior to being delivered – and was pouring the contents to the glass.

"This is a very good year for this vineyard," Harry said a few moments later. He gently took the hand of Hermione and guided it toward the stem of one of the glasses that he had filled earlier. Before she could even think, Hermione found herself with the glass rested at her hand, but her parents – who had joined them – merely smiled at her. She took that as a silent permission from them to drink, but then again, hardly anyone gets drunk with one glass of wine.

"My uncle has little tolerance from wine from this vineyard, but this year was an exemption from their usual standards, according to him," Harry said, though this time, the comment was directed toward Richard Granger, "My aunt says that she cannot tell the difference, before she would make him frown by draining her glass with one gulp."

"She must be quite something," Rose commented under her breath, she sipped her wine in an attempt to cover her mouth, but Hermione caught the smile that came across the face of her mother after she said that.

Before Hermione could say anything, however, Harry returned to the conversation, "That she is," he agreed and he added more conviction to the statement that he had just made by nodding fervently, "My aunt and uncle, they took me in even if they did not have to, and raised me as their own."

"They don't have their own child?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself. Harry turned her attention toward her and Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably before she could even note the look on the face of Harry, "I'm sorry."

Harry smiled at her, and Hermione felt her heart flutter, but she still kept her silence, "It's alright," he replied, and before Hermione can say anything, Harry quickly added, "I am not privy to the details and I suspect that only three people are aware, but there is a story behind the reason why my aunt and uncle do not have children of their own," and with a frown, he quickly added, "Those three people, I suspect, are my aunt, my uncle, and the person who probably informed them of the reason."

'_In other words, a doctor,'_ Hermione thought to herself. She briefly wondered if Harry's aunt was unable to have children on her own or of it was his uncle, but after a few moments, she reminded herself that it was none of her business. If the two people whom Harry called his aunt and uncle had not even seen fit to inform Harry of the reason, then there is no way that a stranger like Hermione would be told.

The hand of Harry on her shoulder tore Hermione out of her reverie at almost the same time that it nearly made her drop her wine glass in surprise. Fortunately, while the former did happen, the latter was prevented. She turned to look at Harry and caught him as he gave her a smile, "Cheer up, Little Kitten," he said, the smile on his face as broad as any that she had ever seen him give, "You'll like them, my aunt and uncle,"

Hermione gave Harry a smile. She certainly hoped that his aunt and uncle would like him. She glanced toward her parents and fought the urge to sigh as she considered what was likely to happen if his aunt and uncle expressed their disfavor of her. She certainly would not be able to find out what it means to have Harry by her side at the least.

**Aboard the **_**Emma Charlotte**__,_

**London, United Kingdom**

**August 29, 1995 ACE**

Alex handed the pair of binoculars that he held against the bridge of his nose just a few moments later to his wife. Emma took the ocular device and pressed it against her own eyes so that she may see the sight that had obviously caused some sort of reaction from her husband.

The two of them stood inside the bridge of their yacht, located within the second highest deck of the vessel. Near where the two of them stood, the bridge crew worked in silence as they responded to the commands given by a man that just a few hours ago, they did not even know.

The rules of port entry, however, are very strict. It does not matter how gifted and how familiar the captain of a vessel is, when a vessel is entering a port, the authority aboard any ship – whether it was a small weekend schooner or a two hundred meter or even longer oil tanker – is the harbor pilot.

Just a little over thirty minutes ago, the _Emma Charlotte_ slowed down to pick up a harbor pilot that had been given a lift by one of the small boats that the club operated. After the necessary pleasantries – including introducing the man to the owner of the boat – the harbor pilot went straight to business.

Alex fought the urge to snort as he turned his attention away from the direction where his yacht was heading at a moderately sedate speed of five knots and toward the harbor pilot. The man was easily distinguishable because aside from the fact that he is the only person aboard the yacht that Alex was not familiar with – the twenty six men and women who make up the crew of this boat is familiar to Alex, they are, after all, handpicked – he was also the only one amongst the five other people inside the bridge that was not wearing a uniform.

A sigh escaped from the lips of Alex as he returned his attention to the front of his boat. At least the harbor pilot seemed competent enough to do this job and Alex fought the urge to smile as he told himself that the man is supposed to be competent, after all, there was no way that the club would send an incompetent to guide a ship as big as the _Emma Charlotte_ is to the berth that was reserved for her.

Emma removed the binoculars from her eyes and turned her attention toward her husband. Her action precluded Alex from doing anything other than return his attention toward his wife.

"He seems healthy enough," Emma commented as soon as she returned the binoculars to Alex. He took it without comment – aside from a smile – but then again, before he could say anything, Emma cut him off, "I fail to see any reason for you to be distracted."

The smile on the face of Alex broadened even as he shook his head. He told himself that he should have realized that Emma would not pay attention to the companions of the boy that she considered as her son.

"We saw less than a month ago, no one can change that drastically in just one month," Alex commented under his breath. He purposely refused to look at the face of his wife in order for him to not see the frown that she was sure she gave him – and she gave him a frown in response to his statement – before he added, "The girl that he was holding hands with is sure to be this Hermione character, those two older ones are probably her parents"

Emma smiled. There was a hint of amusement in her voice as she said, "I had came to that conclusion myself, but nevertheless, thank you for your help."

This time it was the turn of Alex to frown, though there was an unmistakable hint of amusement in his tone when he said, "Keep up that attitude, Little Kitten and you would enjoy the interior of our quarters for the rest of the trip," he paused for dramatic effect before he quickly added, "And it would be the only thing you would enjoy"

"Bully," Emma replied as she hooked her right arm on his left. She smiled, however, when she added, "That would not be a punishment for me, it would be a punishment for our guests"

"Really?" Alex asked, genuinely confused, "And why is that?"

Alex had to admit that she was expecting his wife would reply in the lines of, '_they would be deprived the chance to meet with me,'_ so he was surprised when instead of that, the reply of his wife was, "Because if I'm stuck in the room, then you would be stuck in the room as well," and before Alex could comment, she quickly added, though this time, it was just a whisper, "Since when have you been able to resist me pouting at you without the benefit of clothes, dearest Sir?"

Alex laughed silently as he conceded that that would be an effective way for her to keep him inside their quarters as well, "Well, we'll just have to think of another way to punish you, won't we?" he asked, the hint of mirth in his voice as unmistakable as the rays of the sun in the middle of the afternoon. When Alex next spoke, however, it was full of seriousness and given the topic, it was to be expected.

"It is the man that I want you to look at," Alex said, and when Emma nodded as she realized that the time for serious talk had arrived, Alex added, "He seemed familiar."

Emma blinked and before Alex could say anything else, she retook the binoculars that she had already handed to him and in one quick motion, she replaced them against her eyes so that she may look again at the party that was, without a doubt, waiting for them. After a few moments of study, she removed the binoculars against her eyes and handed them back to Alex, "I can't say that I've met him before," she admitted.

For a response, Alex pulled his wife closer to him, "He just seemed familiar, Little Kitten," he replied as he started to caress her hair, causing Emma to purr against his ministrations, "I did not say that we've met him before."

Alex continued to attend to the hair of his wife and she continued to purr in absolute pleasure against his ministrations as the yacht approached the berth under the guidance of the harbor pilot. The distance between where Alex and Emma stood and where Harry and the Grangers waited for them was still considerable that Alex was sure that Mr. Granger still could not see him, and he was thankful for that. Despite what he had said to his wife, he had met the man before, he just could not place where.

Alex mentally shook his head, as he told himself that it is of no concern. He had met a lot of people in his life, as a lawyer and as a member of the organization. It was not surprising that there might be one – or a hundred – faces that he could not place.

**Aboard the **_**Emma Charlotte**_**, London Yacht Club**

**London, United Kingdom**

**August 29, 1995 ACE**

The eyes of Hermione widened as Harry opened the door and she gazed upon a relatively small library. The two of them were inside the private apartments – and that was the term that Harry used to describe the place – of the owners located at the upper deck of the yacht.

As preparations for casting off were completed on the main deck, the lower deck, and the bridge deck, Harry had volunteered to take Hermione to a tour of the vessel. Actually, he had volunteered to take everyone who was not familiar with the vessel, but Richard and Rose Granger had begged off, having preferred to stay with his aunt and uncle at the main saloon and talk about topics that Harry was sure would soon include him and Hermione.

The young man had to admit the knowledge that the two of them would soon be included in the topic of the conversation was one of the reasons that had motivated him to take Hermione out for the tour.

"This is amazing," Hermione said as she took a step into the room that had been converted from a children's room to a floating library. Harry turned his attention toward Hermione as she practically skipped toward the mahogany and oak bookshelves filled with books. He watched as she scanned the titles and his worry increased when he saw the frown on her face.

"No magical books?" Hermione asked, and that told Harry what caused the frown to appear on the face of Hermione.

Harry smiled as he shook his head, "Unfortunately not," he replied, and before Hermione can say anything, Harry quickly added, "This is an oceangoing boat, Hermione, but it cannot stay outside a port for long, it has to dock every now and then, and in all of those docks, there are mandated inspections, I doubt my aunt and uncle could explain the presence of magical books in the boat."

The frown on the face of Hermione stayed for a few moments, but after a while, she gave him a nod of understanding. She knew that the aunt and uncle of Harry are both magicals, Harry had said so, but just because they are magical would not mean that they are exempted from the Coast Guard inspections that they have to undertake when they enter the borders of a country.

The look on the face of Hermione told Harry that he might have trouble in keeping her out of this room in the future, and as Hermione moved to probably take a book from one of the shelves, Harry pointedly cleared his throat.

Hermione returned her attention toward Harry, and there was a questioning look on her face. Harry smiled at her and said, "The library is not the only highlight of this tour, Hermione," – he fought the urge to call her 'Little Kitten' – "we should go see the other places first before you lose yourself in the books."

Harry caught Hermione frown as the smile on his face broadened, but after a few moments, she gave him a nod, "Very well," she said. She actually looked pained as she extracted herself from the library.

"It won't go anywhere," Harry assured her as he caught her take one last glance at the room. Hermione gave him a nod that nevertheless conveyed the message that Hermione does not fully believe him, and Harry would have laughed in response had he not seen the look that crossed her face when she caught sight of the closed door that was directly in front of the open door to the library, "My quarters," he said, and with a sigh, he quickly added, "The library was converted from a room that was supposed to be exactly like mine when my aunt and uncle accepted that they do not need a second children's room," he frowned as he added, "and I am soon going to outgrow this room as well."

Hermione smiled in amusement as she made a show of comparing her height with his. The top of her head could only reach till his nose, which probably led her to ask, "Can I have your room instead? You can have mine."

Harry laughed. The room that was assigned for the use of Hermione was one of the three VIP suites in the main deck. Her parents had one of the other three while the remaining rooms – one more VIP suite and two double suites – were to remain empty.

Harry gently took her hand in his. While he may not have thought much of it, it was clear that Hermione did. A blush came across her face as she realized what he had done, but Harry failed to see it because he had his attention away from her. He gently pulled her with him until they were standing in front of a narrow corridor that ends in another closed door.

"My aunt and uncle's room," he said. He inclined his head toward the direction of the closed door and said with a smile, "They could be noisy most of the time."

The blush on the face of Hermione deepened, but Harry mistakenly interpreted the blush as having come from what he had just said rather than the fact that what he had just said actually just helped to spread it.

"Want to see the pool?" Harry asked a few moments later. It was a loaded question as he already knew what her response would be. After what he had just said, there was no doubt that Hermione would want out of the private apartments as soon as possible.

A few moments later, Harry had shown Hermione not only the jet pool at the top deck and to the aft of the boat, but also the Jacuzzi forward of the sundeck with its excellent panoramic view – which was ruined by the fact that they are still berthed, so there was no excellent sight to look at, and Harry was sure that Hermione was already tired of the city – the exercise room located at the amidships of the top deck, the spa beside the exercise room, and the view from the sundeck.

He refused to show her the view from the number two and the number four radar platform – the latter higher than the former, but those two provided the most excellent viewing platforms in the boat – as that would mean climbing the mast. Harry had only climbed the mast once in his life and had been grounded for two months and two weeks because of it.

They were inside the bridge assembly – in particular, the navigation room – where Harry was teaching Hermione how the use the astrolabe – after he assured her that they have little need for it since the yacht was equipped with GPS – when one of the members of the crew found them and informed them that their presence was requested at the saloon where dinner was to be served shortly, so Harry led Hermione back to the aft of the main deck, and in the process, he showed to her the fastest way back, using passages that were supposed to be for the crew only.

Harry and Hermione heard the laughter that came from the direction of the outside saloon even if they were still a considerable distance away. When they got to the saloon, they were both not surprised to see that their parents – for Harry, his aunt and uncle are his parents – seated at the huge circular table that could seat fourteen people. Harry was also not surprised to see the captain of the vessel – a man whom Harry refers to as Martin because the man insisted when Harry first met him – had joined them for the evening.

"Harry," Alex said as soon as he caught sight of the boy whom he had raised as his own, he motioned toward two empty seats and said with a smile, "Take a seat, dinner would be served shortly"

"Yes uncle," Harry said, he turned toward Hermione and gently pulled her with him, but before they took their seat, Harry stopped beside the seat of the captain and introduced Hermione, "Captain, it is good to see you again," he began, "May I present Hermione Granger?"

Captain Martin smiled and stood before he inclined his head toward Hermione, "Welcome aboard, Ms. Granger," he said, "I hope you've had a wonderful time in the few hours that you've been aboard and I could only promise that the rest of the time would be just as grand if not more so."

Hermione smiled back, "Thank you captain," she said.

"Welcome aboard the _Emma Charlotte,_" the captain replied. Silence descended as Harry pulled a chair for Hermione and he actually waited till she was comfortable in her chair before he took his own seat. By the time that Harry took his seat, the waiting staff had already appeared and began serving their food.

While they were having their dinner, Rose said toward the direction of Alex, "I've never heard of anyone actually naming their boat after their wife," she commented.

Alex smiled, but before she could reply, Emma – uncharacteristically for her – spoke first, "I asked him when he told me of the name of the boat if he was comfortable not only with the fact that people are asking permission to board me but also with the fact that someone else is driving me."

Alex shook his head in amusement even as the rest of the table erupted into laughter. Alex allowed the mirth to continue for a few moments, but once it had died down, he quickly seized the moment and said, "I thought about naming it after an ex-girlfriend, truth to tell,"

Emma shot her husband a glance of malevolence and once more laughter erupted around the table. Throughout dinner, the conversation was about non-descript and everyday topics and Harry was once more treated to the display of his uncle actually directing the conversation. He sincerely doubted that anyone noticed, but when the conversation approached a topic that his uncle does not want discussed in his table, the man stirred the conversation away from that topic.

Once dinner was done, Captain Martin excused himself and announced that he is going to prepare for the departure. Once the man had left, Harry realized that only those who are aware of the world of magic – actually, the captain was aware, but Harry was also aware that Hermione and her parents does not know that – were left at the table and when he realized that, he turned his attention toward his uncle just as the man turned his attention toward Hermione.

"Your parents tell me that you are the best student in your year, Hermione," Alex said.

Hermione blushed and shot her parents a look of irritation, before she returned her attention toward Alex. She wanted to remind the man that all parents think that their children are the best, but before she could open her mouth, Alex quickly added, "I disagree," before he paused for dramatic effect and added, "We – my wife and I – think that you are the best student within the last hundred years or so," the smile on his face widened as he added, "After all, not every student regularly receives one hundred twenty percent in their records."

"How..?" Hermione began. Not even her parents were aware that she had broken most – if not all – of the records at Hogwarts. Her eyes widened as Hermione suddenly remembered whom she was speaking with.

It was obvious that Alex had accessed the official records.

"As you know, Harry had been sent here to observe the education process of Britain," Alex said, "When he told me about you, I requested for your files and they were more than happy to give it to me," he smiled toward Hermione and said, "They are right to be proud of you,"

Hermione bit back a sharp comment, but it was of no use, Alex heard the comment even before she could say it, and he did not hide that fact from her, "I take it the look on your face that you are unhappy with the education system yourself," he said, he frowned as he quickly added, "Your records were incomplete, certain days, in some cases, months, were completely glossed over in those reports."

Hermione stared at Alex and could not help but nod. She was certain that he referred to the incidents that she was forced to undergo in the school.

"Would you tell us about them, Hermione?" Alex gently asked.

Hermione turned toward her parents and saw that they have the same curious expression on their faces. She mentally smacked herself for not telling her parents before, now she had to tell them because some other people had requested.

The look on the face of Harry was what convinced her and with a silent sigh, she gave a nod and said, "Alright,"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

* * *

**TEN**

**Aboard the **_**Emma Charlotte**_**, London Yacht Club**

**London, United Kingdom**

**August 29, 1995 ACE**

Although she had already signaled her intention to tell everyone gathered at the table about her adventures in the supposed to be premier magical school of the United Kingdom, there was still a hint of hesitation in the eyes of Hermione.

Harry stared at her for a few moments and asked himself what the source of that hesitation was, but he had barely gone through the first level when he noticed Hermione glance toward her parents. A small smile came across the face of Harry – one unnoticed by anyone – as the young man realized the reason behind the hesitation on the eyes of this beautiful woman in front of her.

In hindsight, he realized that he should have seen it coming. It was at that moment that Harry realized that Hermione had kept some of the more dangerous anecdotes of her life from her parents. Harry turned her attention toward his uncle and saw the neutral expression on his face, a telltale sign that he was waiting and he is not going to say anything anymore. Harry knew that it was exactly those dangerous anecdotes of her life that his uncle was looking for when he asked Hermione.

For a few moments, the silence that had descended upon those gathered the table remained. It was broken only by the sound of a horn that Harry noted made Hermione almost jump from her seat. A smile came across the face of Harry, one that broadened when he noticed that Hermione turned to him and frown when she saw the smile.

"It's a signal that the boat is preparing to cast off," Harry said, answering the unasked question of Hermione.

Hermione gave a nod of understanding, but before she could say anything, her father reentered the conversation, "Hermione," Richard said, and the young girl turned her attention toward her father, the questioning look on her face unmistakable, "You haven't been exactly forthcoming when we ask you about your experiences in your school."

Hermione paused for a few moments, but after a few moments, she gave a nod. She turned her attention toward Harry and the two of them stared at each other, precluding both Harry and Hermione from noting that their actions resulted to knowing smiles from the two other women seated around the table, a neutral expression from Alex, and a look on the face of Richard that cannot be described as neutral despite the obvious mixture of happiness and worry at his face.

"Alright," Hermione repeated with a nod. She closed her eyes for a few moments, but before anyone can say anything, she opened her eyes once more and the next words that came out of her mouth was a story that not even her parents had been told before.

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**Scotland, United Kingdom**

**October 31, 1991 ACE**

Twelve year old Hermione Granger wiped the tears that had doubled out of her eyes with the sleeves of her robe as she prepared to step out of the stall where she had secreted herself right after the last class that she had attended.

She was inside the last stall in the second floor comfort room, a place that she had fled to after she had heard of the insults uttered by one Ronald Weasley. Hermione was used to being the recipient of insults, and it was not the insult of Ronald Weasley that had sent her to this relatively isolated spot, no, it was the fact that a boy that she had thought would be her friend – and a boy that, admittedly, she harbored an infatuation for – had not only seconded the insults uttered by the red-haired boy, he had added his own.

In hindsight, though, Hermione realized that she should have expected that, after all, Michael Potter and Ronald Weasley did grow up together. She had thought that she could make a friend of Michael Potter, but apparently, the ignorant young boy had no intention of being friends with her, and she knew that he was of the opinion that she was an 'opinionated, know-it-all bookworm'.

A sigh came out through the lips of Hermione. She might have harbored an infatuation for Michael Potter, but it was obvious that pursuing him any further would be just a waste of time.

'_I don't even know what I see in him,'_ she told herself, '_he is arrogant, narcissistic, and obviously a glory-seeker, all the things that I do not like in a person,'_ but even as she told that to herself, the corner of her mind told her that the reason that she harbored an infatuation for him was obvious., Hermione saw – behind the arrogance and narcissism of the boy-who-lived – the calm confidence and the self-assurance that the boy was born with, and it attracted her to him, especially considering the fact that when they first met, Michael Potter was seated with his adopted brother – Ronald Weasley – whose lack of confidence and self-assurance only served to highlight those of Michael more.

She inhaled and consolidated her strength as her mind formed her next course of action, but just as she was about to push the door to the stall open, the sound of the door to the comfort room being forced open made her jump.

A putrid – almost rotten – smell assaulted her nose and it was only through a quickly-fired air freshening charm was she able to remain on her two feet. Slowly and hesitantly, she opened the door of her stall and her eyes flew wide open as she found herself in front of a twelve foot high mountain troll.

The troll stared at the little girl in front of him, but for Hermione, she had long ago removed her gaze from the creature in front of her and had instead turned her attention toward the only exit of this room. She knew that she could not outrun the troll if they were in a mountain, but they are inside a building and she might have a chance, in any case, she knew that the professors must be aware of what is happening and she could probably run to their protection.

Of course, all that was possible only if she could cross to the only exit, but the problem was that there is a troll between where she stood and the exit.

At that moment, Hermione imagined two boys crash into the comfort room with determined faces ready to assist her. Michael Potter and Ronald Weasley coming to her rescue and despite the fact that Hermione knew that it was not going to happen, a smile came across her face.

All the power of imagination, however, would have been for naught at this conjecture. The movement of the troll – it raised its club high above its head and it was clear that it had intended to use the club on Hermione – tore her out of her reverie and she was forcefully reminded of the fact that she was alone in this comfort room when even the imagined specters of Michael Potter and Ronald Weasley disappeared.

Her gaze turned toward the tip of the club – she absently noted that the tip of the blunt-shaped object appeared to have dried blood in it – before her flight-or-fight response went off the chart. Her mind was urging her to run, and in fact, in her mind, she was already running, but no matter what commands her brain would send to her legs, it was obvious that it was not being carried out.

Hermione Granger found herself stuck in position, stunned by the fact that in her mind, she was about to get crushed by a creature that was not even supposed to be inside this school in a room where she had fled after hearing one insult too many from people who are supposed to stand with her and protect each other.

It was at that moment that she had an epiphany. She had entered Hogwarts School with the intention of being the best and making friends, but it was obvious in her mind that that is not the way that things work in this world. Her little fists clenched involuntarily as she made her mind that from this moment on, she would depend on no one but herself.

The troll suddenly stopped its movements and stared at the girl in front of her, but Hermione filed it away at the back of her mind because even though the creature had stopped, nothing would change what she had already decided. The troll suddenly brought the club down as fast as it could possible do, but before it could hit Hermione, the light of her eyes faded as her eyelids suddenly became too heavy for her to keep open.

The last sight that Hermione saw before her eyes closed – and at that moment, she had thought that it would be the last time that she would ever close her eyes – was that of the troll as it screamed in unmistakable pain quickly followed by the sight of the creature decaying before her eyes.

**Aboard the **_**Emma Charlotte**_**, London Yacht Club**

**London, United Kingdom**

**August 29, 1995 ACE**

"When I came to, I was in the hospital wing of the school," Hermione continued. She was so into narrating her story, she failed to see the look of anger on the face of Richard when she narrated the reason behind the fact that she hid in the second floor girl's comfort room.

She was also so into narrating that she also failed to see the deceptively calm look on the face of Harry. If she had, she would have remarked to herself that the calm look on the face of Harry was scarier than the look of anger coming from her father. She would also remember the reason why she found herself attracted to the young man from the United States to the United Kingdom.

It was the same calm confidence and self-assurance that Michael had, but it was more than what Michael could muster. Hermione turned her attention toward Harry and he smiled at her. She smiled back, yet despite that, she got the hint of outrage on his face, outrage at what she had been forced to go through at the age of eleven in a school that advertised itself as the safest place in all of the United Kingdom – Gringotts being sovereign territory and all.

That outrage was also directed at those people who were supposed to be in the same House as her. Although they do things differently in Columbia, Harry was aware of the House System of Hogwarts and how it works. He knew that the members of Gryffindor House – the House that Hermione belonged to – should have noticed that she was not in the table during the feat.

His first clenched involuntarily under the cover of the table – he knew that if his uncle saw his action, he would frown, though Harry was sure that his aunt would smile if it was her who saw the action – as Harry swore that when he gets to Hogwarts, he would make the lives of all those who treated his Hermione like that – '_wait, _my _Hermione,'_ he asked himself before he glanced toward Hermione and gave himself a mental nod, _'Yes, my Hermione'_ – a living hell.

For all the outrage that Harry felt toward the boy-who-lived and Ronald Weasley, however, he did not fail to file away a part of the story that he found weird – almost impossible.

Harry was about to ask a question, but at the moment that he opened his mouth to pronounce the first syllable of his question, his uncle asked, "What happened to the troll?"

Harry stared at his uncle, but Alex kept his gaze at Hermione. A small smile graced the face of Harry as he told himself that he should have known that his uncle would want to ask the same question as him.

Harry returned his attention at Hermione and watched her as she answered the question, "A few days after I was released from the hospital wing – suffering from magical exhaustion according to the Matron – my dorm mates told me that there was no troll and that Professor Quirell was imagining things," she paused for a few moments before she turned her attention toward Harry.

The next words that came out of her was practically a plea from her to Harry to believe her, "There was a troll," she said, "I did not imagine that"

Harry nodded, "Yes, you did not," he quickly agreed. He turned toward his uncle but instead of the look that told Alex that Harry was begging him to agree, the look on the face of Harry was one that practically dared Alex to say otherwise.

"You told us that your last vision was that of the troll screaming in pain before it decayed before your eyes," Alex said a few moments later, he paused, ostensibly to gather his breath, but Harry noted that his uncle glanced at his aunt, though it was for a short time, before he added, "Sometimes, accidental magic – even coming from a small girl like you when you were in that age – could be powerful enough to protect the caster, perhaps that is what happened."

"But..,' Hermione began. She wanted to point out that the professors never told her that, but before she could continue, she countered that by reminding herself that she promised that she would never look at professors as omniscient anymore.

"What is important is that you did not suffer any damage – permanent or otherwise – from that incident," Emma said a few moments later, much to the surprise of Harry who had thought that his aunt would fall back to the usual routine that she and his uncle play when they are in public – specifically, that it would be his uncle who would do the talking and his aunt would not say anything unless asked a direct question – but Harry quickly realized that his aunt and uncle considered this gathering a private gathering despite the fact that they had only met the Granger's a few hours ago.

Hermione paused for a few moments, but then she nodded as she acknowledged the last statement that Emma uttered. She looked pensive for a few moments before she added, "There was not much to tell about my first year, though near the end of the term, Michael Potter got me with a body-bind curse while he and his adopted brother sneaked out in the middle of the night."

"What?" Harry asked. He would have stood as well, but his aunt – who had realized what Harry was liable to do – had placed her hand on his lap at the same moment that Harry said that. Harry turned his attention at his aunt and saw the smile on her face, but it was the look on the face of his uncle – promising retribution in the most painful way possible of Harry were to attack his aunt – that made Harry stop.

Emma inclined her head slightly toward the direction of Richard and Rose Granger and Harry turned his attention toward them. The look of anger on the face of Hermione's parents shamed Harry and he lowered his head for a few moments as he attempted to consolidate himself.

Silence descended once more, but this time, it did not take that long as another horn – this time, longer and in a higher pitch – was sounded by the boat. "Ready to get underway," Harry said under his breath and toward Hermione who was seated beside her.

She gave a nod before she resumed her narration, "Then it was summer, we do not need to go over my grades and all that, don't we?" she asked.

Alex started to laugh, but after a few moments, he stopped and shook his head, "No, we don't," he agreed. He paused for a few moments before he focused his attention on Hermione – and she involuntarily flinched, an action that caused Harry to place his own hand above her thigh to calm her down. She looked at him in surprise at the action, but did not do anything, not even remove his hand from her thigh.

"There are rumors of a number of events that happened in Hogwarts during the Academic year of 1992-1993," Alex said before lifted his wine glass and sipped at the wine, he replaced the glass on the surface in front of him before he turned his attention back to Hermione and asked, "What can you tell us about them?"

Hermione paused for a few moments, and she had to admit to herself that this felt like an interrogation. She also had to admit that she had expected that this would happen – an interrogation about her experiences at the school – but she had honestly thought that it would be Harry – and not his uncle – who would be doing the questioning.

"You mean the attacks that left students petrified?" Hermione asked, a bit ruder than she had intended, but Alex ignored the rudeness and just gave her a nod, prompting her to continue, "The only ones that were attacked were muggle-born students, but because I was muggle-born myself, Professor McGonagall, my Head of House, warned me against being out on my own," she said. A smile came across her face as she added, "I met Luna Lovegood in my Second Year and we hanged out mostly with Neville Longbottom who is a pureblood so whoever it was that were attacking the students never thought to go after us."

Harry could not explain the comfort that that knowledge gave him. Harry had received the intelligence from the attack – including the fact that the attacker was a basilisk and that the attacker came from the most unexpected of sources – and it was obvious that he actually knew more about the situation than Hermione did.

A mental sigh escaped from Harry as he told himself that better that than Hermione actually knowing more than him but because she came to that knowledge because she was attacked herself.

"And Michael Potter?" Alex asked. It was obvious that despite the fact that Hermione is not a good source of intelligence when it comes to this year, Alex was not going to allow her to scout through this year without questions.

Harry shot his uncle a look of irritation, but either Alex failed to see the look or he just did not care. Harry was prepared to bet that it was the former, because if it was the latter, although his uncle would still not care, the man would have given him a smug smile.

"He and his adopted brother asked my help to make them Polyjuice Potion," Hermione admitted under her breath, "Professor Snape asked me to make one as a special project before the end of the first semester."

Harry smiled at that, as did Emma and Alex. The smile on the faces of those who knew what that meant confused the hell out of the two who were seated around the table who does not know, and this prompted Alex to turn toward Richard and Rose, "High level potion, at least NEWT standard in Britain if I am not mistaken?" he inclined toward Hermione who nodded, before he continued, "That she could make one during her second year," he smiled toward Hermione, "I understand now why even Christian says that you are the brightest witch of your age"

Hermione actually blushed at the compliment, but because she had no intention of being in the center of the conversation, she continued her story, "I refused to help them, so they decided to just steal some from the cupboards of Professor Snape," she said, "Unfortunately, they do not know what the potion looked like so they got veritaserum instead"

"Truth potion, most powerful of its kind," Emma commented under her breath before either Richard or Rose can say anything. She turned her attention toward Hermione and smiled when she noted that Hermione once more blushed and with a mischievous expression on her face, she asked, "Which one of them admitted that they like you?"

Alex smiled at that, and his smile grew broader when he noted that his adopted nephew looked outrage at what his aunt had just said. Hermione failed to notice the look on the face of Harry and she answered the question, "Both of them," Hermione answered, she quickly added, "I told both of them that I am not interested in either of them."

"I should think not," Harry suddenly interjected. The fact that he said that surprised everyone at the table who turned toward him. This time, it was his turn to blush, "I apologize," he said sheepishly a few moments later.

Hermione – in an attempt to stir the conversation back to what they were supposed to be truly talking about – continued her story, "There was also nothing that happened during our Third Year, unless you count on Sirius Black attempting to sneak into Gryffindor Tower during the Halloween, personally, I kind of hope he succeeded, either during the Halloween or the second time that he tried and actually got in."

"Wasn't Sirius Black some sort of escaped murderer?" Richard asked. He had heard of the name before but it was not until five minutes ago after his daughter had brought up the name that it had returned to him. The patriarch of the Granger family turned his attention toward his daughter and asked, "What does he have to do with the magical world?"

"He is magical, daddy," Hermione replied. She turned toward Alex and said, "Rumor had it that he wanted to kill Michael, but when he got into the Tower, he tried to attack Ronald Weasley, personally, I think he should have attacked them both."

"Hermione!" Rose exclaimed, shocked that her daughter openly wished that two of her classmates gets butchered, and in their dormitory no less.

"You'd want them dead too if both of them asked you out for the first Hogsmeade outing at the same time," Hermione replied, "And as if you had no choice but to go out with them."

The noise of a glass shattering made both Richard and Rose cringe, but Alex just stared at his nephew who looked sheepish a few moments later, "I apologize," he said. He failed to note the look of concern on the faces of Richard and Rose as they stared at each other, but Harry did not fail to see the look of disappointment on the face of his uncle. He mentally cringed as he realized that he is going to go to bed late today because there was no doubt in his mind that his uncle is going to want to speak with him about what had just happened. Harry turned his attention toward his aunt and sighed. He just wished that his aunt would be present as well, she was probably the only one who can calm him down.

Harry felt the hand of Hermione on his own thigh and he let out a sigh to calm himself. He turned his attention toward her at the same time that she did and in short order, the two of them were staring straight at the eye of the other.

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**Scotland, United Kingdom**

**August 29, 1995 ACE**

Severus Snape fought the urge to sigh as he gathered his cloak around his body. In front of him, the mostly empty castle that houses the premier magical school of the United Kingdom seemed a foreboding image, but whatever doubts and anxieties that the Potions Master felt was quickly turned to one side as the former Death Eater turned spy reminded himself that he has a mission that he needs to do.

He cursed the fact that one cannot use any instantaneous form of transportation to move from outside the wards of the castle into the wards of the castle, but the moment that he had crossed the threshold – and aside from the fact that he knew where the threshold was, he felt the wards as he crossed them, he was that powerful that even the most subtle wards of Hogwarts, he can feel and manipulate – the Potions Master knew that he could disapparate, but not to a destination outside the wards.

It took him less than a minute to appear in the office of the Headmaster, and as he had expected, the old man was already waiting for him. Seated behind the impressive mahogany desk that was first used by the first Headmaster of Hogwarts – Godric Gryffindor – Albus Dumbledore stared at his deepest spy within the ranks of the dark side, and a thin smile came across his face.

Of all of the spies that Dumbledore maintained within the Death Eaters, this man is his most efficient and his deepest. Snape had developed this reputation with the help of the fact that the Dark Lord was aware that Snape is a spy, though the Dark Lord believed that Snape is spying for him.

"Severus," the Headmaster greeted his Potions Master with a nod before he inclined his head toward the man, "Your missive indicated that what you had to report was important and cannot wait till the morning"

Snape nodded and without bothering to wait for permission from the Headmaster, the spy took a seat in front of the desk. A brief moment of silence descended between the two men as they mentally adjusted themselves, but after a few moments, Snape broke that silence, "Headmaster," he said, "As you are aware I had just returned from a meeting with the Dark Lord,"

Dumbledore nodded, "Yes," he replied, he looked pensive for a few moments before he asked, "Does he plan on revealing himself to the world?"

"Not yet," Snape replied, he sneered as he added, "The rotten luck of Michael Potter had set him behind several months, a year at the most, but he will reveal himself to the world," he paused before he quickly added, "He had recently shifted his focus from obtaining the Item to staging a break-out from Azkaban."

"Rookwood," Dumbledore muttered under his breath. The permanent resident of Azkaban prison was a former member of the Department of Mysteries where the Item was hidden. There was no doubt that the man would be able to provide Tom with the information needed to remove the Item.

"Perhaps it would be time to arrange for a little accident for Rookwood," Snape commented a few moments later, and he mentally shook his head when he saw the look of shock on the face of the Headmaster.

Snape is a spy, so he knows how important information is, especially in wartime. He also understands how important denying the enemy the information that he needs, and for the Dark Lord, the information that Rookwood would give him would be very important. The man also served no purpose and there was no need to keep him alive. A practical solution would be to remove him from the play, but Snape knew that there was no way that the Headmaster would allow that.

"There is still a chance that he may yet learn his lessons," Dumbledore said a few moments later, and quite frankly, Snape was not surprised when the Headmaster said that. He had expected it.

"Security would be tight in the Department," Snape said a few moments later, "Especially after Podmore got tagged."

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied. He fought the urge to sigh in disappointment. Sturgis Podmore was a member of the Order who had been assigned to guard the Department as part of the regular rotating shifts, but the last time that he was sent to guard the Item, he actually tried to break into the Department.

Dumbledore suspected _imperious_ but because he was denied access to the man – with the political situation and all – he cannot confirm. In fact, he had only been made aware of the arrest after Sturgis Podmore had been sent to the no-star resort hotel in the middle of the North Sea.

"It was _imperious,_ Headmaster," Snape added a few moments later, finally allowing himself to report something that he had known even before Podmore got tagged. If he had reported it earlier, Podmore would have been replaced by a member who had not been cursed, "Lucius got him during the Potter trial,"

Dumbledore nodded, "I had wondered what Lucius was doing down in that dungeon," he replied, he sighed before he added, "I take it that he was punished because of the failure?"

Snape nodded, "Of course," he replied. He paused for a few moments as he thought about the propriety of reporting the fact that the meeting of the Dark Lord got gate-crushed, but after a few moments, he realized that the Headmaster should know so the man could better protect him. Snape was not going to take chances that those two are not going to eat the Death Eaters when all is said and done, and they do not even know why they are in the Isles in the first place.

"Headmaster," Snape added a few moments later, "The last meeting of the Death Eaters, two people jumped it"

Dumbledore blinked, twice, but Snape need not resort to that to realize that the Headmaster was surprised by the news that he had just delivered. Before the old man can say anything, however, Snape quickly added, "They use powerful illusion to get in and out"

"Are they for or against Tom?" Dumbledore suddenly asked.

Snape fought the urge to groan at that. The Headmaster was getting old and he had turned to dividing all the camps in the world into just the light or the dark. Snape wanted to remind the Headmaster that the world is all shades of gray – after all, it was the Headmaster who taught that lesson to Snape – but the Potions Master knew that the Headmaster would just ignore him.

"We don't know," Snape replied a few moments later, and then he suddenly blinked before he added, "The Dark Lord, he wants to meet with the Potter that is coming to Hogwarts this fall"

"Michael?" Dumbledore asked. In hindsight, that was not surprising, the Dark Lord had always wanted to meet Michael so they could finish their duel that started when Michael was only a year old.

"The other one," Snape replied as he shook his head. He stared at the Headmaster and said, "The Dark Lord knows that there is another Potter coming to this school this fall."


End file.
